Ghosts and Memories Past
by Brandywine00
Summary: Chp 29... Dealin' with the Feds... Thanks for the continued support of this story! Y'all ROCK!
1. Chapter 1

Ghosts and Memories Past

By Brandywine00

Firefly fan fiction

One of the crew harbors a deep secret… so deep… he doesn't even know himself….

Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, just let 'em play twister in my cranium. All hail Mr. Whedon!

**SPECIAL THANKS:Mercsgoodgirl and jellie_rayneluv for their encouragement on this piece. You guys are the shiniest!**

******

**Awakening**

_He wakes to utter darkness. _

_Every fiber of his being stills in the black, adjusting to the sounds and scents surrounding him._

_Instantly alert, he runs a mental checklist. Smallish bed. Semi-soft sheets. Flannel. Thin flannel. Not too soft, not to rough. Unscent of basic detergent. _

_Hint of gun oil. Metal. Leather. _

_Cigar smoke. Few hours old. Cheap. _

_Whisky. Still a bit fuzzy on his tongue. Rotgut quality. If that good._

_The sound of his own breathing, deep, full, resonating in his chest._

_An odd hum from somewhere. Distant. Constant. Oddly reassuring. He can't place just why. Like a heartbeat, but mechanical._

_A faint buzz began near his head. Dim red light. Numbers. 0530._

'_Zero. Five. Three. Zero.' His mouth silently forms around the words, ciphering, deciphering. Eyes scan around the area as they adjusted to the faint light._

_Women. Pictures of women. Voluptuous. Long and lean. Half-dressed. Not dressed. Beautiful in various ways. His body responds on its own to their curves and creamy valleys. _

_Wall behind them, covered by a patterned sheet, faint shapes bulging from behind the worn cotton. His girls, he thinks automatically, pulling the sheet aside just a bit. Curves and gleaming hard lines, just as beautiful to his mind as the blondes and brunettes in the pictures. They have names, his hard girls. Adored and terrifying, he names them. Cherishes them. Somehow knows that he talks to them when alone._

_Alone._

_Ears strain for any sounds. Is he alone?_

_Faint rustling, muffled through a wall. Alarm buzzing elsewhere. Grumbling voice. Female. Hard and soft in one. Familiar. Not sure why yet._

_Footsteps up above, off to the side. Boots on metal. Heavy. Determined. Not harmless, but not threatening for some reason. Not sneaking. Pausing near the ladder he can now make out from the red numbers' glow. Zero. Five. Three. Two. He wraps his mouth around each of their names slowly._

_A pounding on metal above, near the ladder. A hatch?_

"_Wakey-wakey, Sunshine!" Male voice. Cheerful-ish. Hint of hardness underneath. "Jayne, you awake down there?"_

_Jayne. He looks around the barely lit room. Small lamp near the bed. Long fingers turn it on._

_Nobody else here. Jayne? _

"_Jayne, you better notta got so skunked last night y'ain't gonna be of no use ta me today," the voice warns, the weight of authority riding underneath it. Always answer to authority. Dress-right dress, soldier._

_Jayne. Eyes scan the room. Austere. Efficient. Familiar. No signs of others. His._

_Jayne. A woman's name? But no woman here. The room is all male. _

"_I'm up," he calls out, hoping it's the right response. His voice booms, yet feels rusty, gruff, edgy. Accent takes him by surprise, but still, he recognizes it as his own._

"_Better be," Authority-voice fades as bootsteps resume on metal. "Gonna need my merc in top form to deal with Patience again."_

_Fuzzy memory swims up to the now. Not sure of the patterns displayed. "Didn't she shoot ya, once?" he whispers to no one._

x0x

Dressed in an orange tee shirt, bordering on too small, the large man pulled on a pair of worn tan cargo pants. Sitting on the edge of the small bunk, he laced up black boots, military style, and concealed a pair of matching knives down into them. Green jacket over the shirt, his small girls tucked neatly underneath.

He glanced back at the handwritten message in the notebook beside him on the bed. Scrubbing his hands down the planes of his face, he scanned the notes again. He had to make sure he didn't leave anything out.

Strapping on wrist guards, he recited the scrawled notes again.

"_Your name is Jayne Cobb. Don't ask. You're a bad-ass mercenary, so not too many folk give you shit about the name. If you're reading this, you're probably in your own bunk on the transport ship Serenity. Look behind the curtain at the bed. These are your weapons. Here are their names…."_

He strapped a leather holster to his leg, sliding a large, gleaming, breathtaking piece of armament in the waiting slot. She felt right. She was his girl, _his_.

"_Got six other people on this boat. Used to be eight. Long story, see below. These are your crewmates. Friends. They are NOT targets…"_

At his back, he slipped a long, razor sharp Bowie knife into its belt sheath.

"_Your job is to protect them. Do not kill them. Not even when they need it. Not even when you really, really want to. Especially the doctor, who you will want to kill. A lot. Often. Don't. This will make Kaylee cry. You'll know why you don't want to do that as soon as you see her. Plus, he patches you up when a job goes south. Which is a lot. Often. And it'll piss Mal off. Mal is the captain. Good man. Act like he's a pain in your ass. Otherwise he'll think you're up to something. Challenge him a bit - makes him feel all is right in the 'verse. Stand up to him, so he'll know you ain't lost your nerve. You'll get a feel for when to back off, let him know he's the boss. He likes to threaten you with the airlock. Don't shoot him…"_

x0x

The Authority-Voice –Mal, he corrected - was waiting on the bridge of the ship when Jayne sauntered in, cup of coffee in one hand. Jayne leaned against the doorway, feeling the rush of memories start to form in his mind. Things were beginning to feel familiar again. The notebook said they would.

He still wasn't sure why he'd started making notes to himself. According to the hand-scrawled pages, he didn't really know, other than something had caused his mind to wipe away memories at night. Even recent ones, though the journal entries said this was starting to ease up. Things were sticking longer, coming back quicker. Still, had to remember to put the book where he could find it in the morning first thing, remind himself of what was what.

"Glad you could join us," the female hard-soft familiar voice said, coming from a tall, beautiful, dark-skinned goddess with riotous black curls. She wore military efficiency around her like a warrior queen's robe, drawing from a source behind those slightly tilted sable eyes. Eyes that didn't trust him, not entirely. Disappointment in that revelation stabbed his gut. He would die for her, he realized, stunned by the force of the knowledge. _Zoë_, he told himself, not relying entirely on the notes.

He had to keep up the role, had to be what they expected of him, or things would get really hairy. Hadn't been a problem Before. He was what he was, or had been anyway. The messages to himself hadn't begun until After.

When did he start thinking of it as Before and After? The notebook wasn't completely forthcoming.

There had been a battle. Horrifying and gruesome. Death of his friend, the Preacher Who Wasn't Always A Holy Man. Death of the Laughing Man who tamed the Warrior Queen. Memories from the Terrified Crazy Girl, but somehow not her own memories.

Bodies of folk who'd just laid down and died for no good reason, now dried up on some forgotten planet. Except for the ones who'd gone past insane from the same drug their government had put in the atmo. Government trying to control folks. Something twisted inside him at that, but he couldn't figure why that particular thought above all the others made him feel unclean and betrayed at once.

More so than the flush of desire he felt when he beheld Terrified Crazy Girl, now turned Monster-Slayer, standing victorious and beautifully devastating with twin blades dripping monster blood; their twisted corpses heaped in homage, a shrine to her lethal grace. He'd die for her, too, without a second thought. Somehow, that truth didn't mesh with what the notebook said he should project.

Realizing Zoë was waiting for some kind of acknowledgement, Jayne gave her a smirk, hid his reaction in the bad coffee. "What, miss all the fun? Might get ta shoot somebody! Reckon it's our turn, 'ey Zoë?"

She smiled wryly back at him, shutters still hiding the thoughts behind her eyes, but not before a flash of anguish slipped past. Her true laughter had died with Him, her Laughing Man. She was playing the part, just like himself. Only she knew what she was, how she was supposed to be. The man they called Jayne felt a brief stab of envy toward her.

x0x

*****

Author's Note: Going out on a limb here, trying something new, but hope to make it worth the dear reader's while. This story's been rolling around in my head for a bit, wanting to get out. Tell me what you think, good or bad. Thanks!


	2. Chapter 2

Athens' moon of Whitefall

_Bullet blasts through the air, missing his ear by a fraction. Heat from it brushes past him, hotter even than the searing desert sun on this godforsaken moon._

_He hunkers down, glad that one wasn't The One. Every man who picks up a gun has one, gambles on whether or not old age can beat it to finding him. The bullet with his name on it. Be a kick in the ass, piece of hot lead remembering what he can't nail down his own self._

_He waits for the pause between steady staccato beats, rewarded by the sounds ricocheting off the rusted tin siding. Sweat beads down the back of his neck, giving the constant blowing dust something to mix with. Damned wind. Just ain't right, to blow every second, yet bring no cool relief to a man._

_Nothing about this whole crap-heel moon is right. Not the weather. Not this dried-up town of mostly boarded-up empty buildings. Sure as hell not that sawed-off harpy who runs the place._

_And not this job. Nothing about it's right, though his brain tries to wrap around the particulars, coming up empty. Again._

_For not the first time, he wishes he was somebody else. The big man barks a laugh at the irony. Hell, he very well could be somebody else, wouldn't know the difference anyhow._

_Another round hits the wall above his head. How long till the crusty metal gives way, leaving him exposed to his enemy? Already, what used to be the side of a thriving dry-goods store has enough holes through it, he don't really need to stick his head out all the way to get a good aim. Good thing those goons don't seem to have any aim themselves. Seems they've got enough ammo to wipe out a small settlement, judging from the relentless hail of lead pinning him down._

_The break comes. Vera sings out across the dirt street, seeking any of seven enemy hiding there for her deadly duet. One unlucky bastard groans short, falling into the main throughway of this fall-apart shanty town. Guess Vera don't like his tune. He gives a short grunt, half-grins at his own humor under fire._

_Every damned body on this hunk of rock's trying their damnedest to ventilate his hide._

_Scratch that, soldier. Two on his side, playing the same cat-and-mouse, duck and wait, shoot and duck. Mal and Zoë return fire, captain from behind the dumpster, first mate from the broken window of the empty saloon. Guess folk on Whitefall don't hanker for a drink before noon. If he was stuck on this godforsaken rock, dealing with Patience full-time, he'd likely hit the bottle from sun-up until he mercifully passed out._

"_How we doin', folks?" Mal's chipper question grates on him. "Jayne? Zoë?"_

"_Not an overly-friendly welcome, sir," Zoë's cool voice trickles into the alleyway. Jayne hears her weapon fire off two rounds quick, sees a man's limp form fall from a second story of another abandoned building across the way. 'Parently, no need for an assayer here anymore, either. Mine's gone dry as the dirt on this miserable stone. _

_Something stirs in the edges of his mind as he tries to suss out what's been nagging him since Mal agreed to this run._

_Dry moon, no crops to speak of for either sustenance or trade. Out of the way moon off a Rim planet, a mite inconvenient for regular trade traffic. Mine's all but gone, no revenue there. _

_Yet Patience, in her infinite resourcefulness, somehow comes up with enough cashy money to make it worth Mal's while to forgive the past. He knows nothing buys bygone like cold hard cash, but she's shot the man twice now, both times during business dealings. Mal's obviously not counting. It ain't right, he argues with himself again. The whole lot of it stinks like a Reaver corpse in the blistering sun. Why can't Mal see that?_

_A moment's pause in the ruckus, and he peers through one of the bullet holes in the wall. Them two on the edge there, the two who ain't been shooting back at him and Mal and Zoë… something about them don't settle right, either. Only there ain't two of them now, just one, crouching there, staring back toward the crew's cover._

_He swears the fella's staring straight at him, and that feeling of not-rightness punches him in the gut again. Training Vera on the eirie-ass man to remedy that, he almost misses the other feeling, the slow, creepifying sensation crawling up the back of his neck, raising the short hairs there as it works up to the back of his head._

_Gorramit, he thinks as he swivels around on one knee, other freak's got the drop on me! How the ruttin' hell did I let…_

_Darkness swarms up from the edges of his suddenly fuzzy thoughts, so fast he barely registers the sting burning his neck._

_I'm hit, he yells, or means to. Would, if his voice still worked. Trying to bring Vera's muzzle up, he watches with a nauseous feeling as the dry, whirling dirt of Whitefall rises quickly to meet him…_


	3. Chapter 3

Ghosts and Memories Past5fanfic by Brandywine00

draft date10/11/09

Chapter Three

Jayne harbors a deep secret… so deep, he doesn't even know himself….

Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, just let 'em play twister in my cranium. All hail Mr. Whedon!

Thanks to all who have taken time to review, add to story alerts and been just all-around general good folk!

_**SPECIAL THANKS:Mercsgoodgirl and jellie_rayneluv for their aid and encouragement on this piece. You guys are the shiniest!**_

****

Fallen

Athens' moon of Whitefall

"How we doin', folks?" Mal called out to his crewmates, ducking again behind the beat-up dumpster. "Jayne? Zoë?"

"Not an overly-friendly welcome, sir," Zoë's steady voice called back from her perch inside the old saloon. Two quick blasts barked out from her position, catching one of Patience's boys across the dusty street.

As the body took a nose-dive from the abandoned assayer's office, Mal wondered how the old harridan kept herself supplied in business associates. Seemed like dealing with Patience was a health hazard, even for those on her side, yet somehow the old bat never had less than a half-dozen men ready to lay down their lives for her benefit.

Mal took out another shooter, cussing himself as being among that bunch. Shoulda known she'd pull some go se, but the payoff had been too good to pass up.

Mal railed at himself. Too good to pass up generally meant too good to be solid.

He spared a quick glance across the narrow alley to Jayne. His hired gun had said damn near the same thing before the job, and was the first to point out the extra 'welcoming committee' members hiding in the shadows of the run-down shanty town. Too many for what should have been a simple cargo drop. Do the job. Get paid. Simple. Why was it never simple?

Course, the fact that it was Patience was the first clue things would turn south. Mal had come to expect that she'd turn the deal; hell, he actually factored her betrayal into his plans. Somehow, this time it hadn't mattered. They hadn't got much past 'Howdy, Patience,' when all hell broke loose and shooting commenced.

Which made little to no sense, since a dead supplier couldn't tell her where the goods were stashed. Didn't see that one coming.

Jayne did, his thoughts nagged. Jayne saw it coming when you were still thinking about the cashy money side of things.

The man's talent for smelling a set-up was damned near miraculous, Mal mused, watching his merc dodge and fire. Man was a wonder with a firearm, for certain, and his tracking and hand-to-hand skills made him an asset in any confrontation.

He watched Jayne peer through the bullet holes in the wall he used for cover. Barely took a second to gauge the enemy's position, then leaned out and fired, ducking back. Across what used to be Main Street, another pistol fell silent as its owner hit dirt in a permanent sort of fashion. One shot, one kill, one moment. One less henchman.

Already, his steel-eyed gun hand was spying out another one, preparing to draw the odds more even. Made Mal thankful once again that he'd seen that spark of something in him that day when Marco and his team had tracked Serenity down. Something about the almost military posture, the steady blue eyes, told Mal this man didn't fit with that bunch of cutthroats, no matter how shabby his clothes had been, or the fact that Marco was running the show.

For all his efficiency in tracking them down, no small feat in Mal's mind, the man didn't seem to know much about the crime-y side of things. Hell, didn't even know seven percent and a shared bunk was a sad deal for someone with his obvious skills.

A new barrage of lead hissed through the alley. Gorram Patience. Finally gone senile, not even waiting for the pleasantries 'fore she tried to kill him. Where's the profit in killing off your delivery boy before you locate the goods? And Mal had made ruttin' sure for certain she wouldn't locate the goods without his help.

Made no kinda sense, Mal argued with himself. Besides, weren't like any of these boys could really shoot. They'd been firing off shots for a good ten minutes now, and not one had hit anything but walls and air. Almost like they weren't even trying.

"Gor-ram it!" he spit, enough pieces of the bigger picture finally falling into place.

"Trap, sir?" Zoë's tone never faltered, nor did her gunfire. Sometimes he hated when his first mate made the conclusion and was just waiting for him to catch up.

"Trap, more than usual," he answered grimly, mind already sussing out a path back to Serenity.

It was getting tiresome, folk always trying to kill or rob or capture his little crew. After the broadwave about Miranda, the Alliance, or at least some factions of it, wanted their collective heads on a plate. Jobs dried up, associates who never minded a bit of not-quite-legal business were suddenly beset upon by fits of conscience.

Even after the warrants for River and Simon had been quietly removed from the Cortex, seemed like somebody was always out to cause trouble for Serenity. Though how exactly Patience was involved with the greater scheme of things, well, that was a bit of mystery he didn't have time to unravel just at the moment.

"Zo', I feel we've worn out our welcome with these folks," Mal quipped. "You feel the need to excuse ourselves from this shindig?"

"Dancin' shoes are worn a bit thin, sir," she deadpanned, her shot clipping one of Patience's men in the shoulder.

Mal turned to the big merc on his right to give the retreat order, but noticed Jayne's attention was focused on a particular something. Following the man's intent stare across the street, his mind connected with another piece of the puzzle that hadn't quite connected 'til now.

Patience wasn't known for her high standards when it came to hiring folks. But that one fella on the end, he had a look about him that didn't quite fit. The bearing, crisp deliberate action with a gun, the way his clothes seemed to fit better than most, almost like a uniform.

Gorram Alliance hun dan! Had to be. Explained the high pay, and the seeming unlimited supply of ammo these boys had been tossing their way. Keeping them pinned down until…

Until what?

Whipping around to get Jayne's attention, Mal watched in horror as the big man's arms went limp. His massive body fell forward into the hard, hot dirt, beloved Vera trapped beneath his broad chest.

"Ta de ma! Jayne- Zoë, Jayne's hit! He's down, Jayne's down!" he shouted. "Fall back, Zoë!"

A full barrage of projectiles suddenly launched toward their position, forcing him to slam himself back behind the dumpster. Zoë had worked her way around to the back of the saloon, her weapon peeking from the corner.

"Ai ya!" she yelled, raising the barrel toward the back street adjoining the alley. "One on the flank, sir!"

Mal craned his neck as she fired off a round in that direction, peering as far down the back street as he could without catching a bullet from the main squad.

"South side, gray building, doorway," she called, crouching low against the saloon. "We're open to his fire from here, sir."

"Can you reach him?"

"Negative, sir, need a better range or have to get closer." Their eyes caught on Vera, pinned beneath their unmoving crewman. "Vera's got the range, but the man weighs a ton. I'd never get her out from under Jayne before the bastard got a shot off."

"So- closer it is, then," the captain said. "Just be-"

"Yes, sir, I will be," she nodded, slipping quickly across the back street and into the building adjacent to the one housing the enemy. He'd never seen anyone during the War who was better at stealth than Zoë.

Laying flat as he could, Mal tried to become as little and low a target as could be managed. His conscience screamed that he should go attend to Jayne, but is brain held him in check. If he got his ruttin' head blown off, he wouldn't be much use to the man anyway.

If he was still a praying man, he'd likely pray now that his 'public relations' officer wasn't laying there, bleeding out, on the raggedy edge of death or already past it. But he weren't no praying man, not anymore. Not since the War.

He sure was a hoping man, though, and he hoped with all he had that it wasn't already too late for the big man. Hopin' real hard.

***


	4. Chapter 4

Ghosts & Memories Past Chapter 4

***

Taken

Athens' moon of Whitefall

Zoë eased one foot in front of the other, slowly shifting her weight to the leading leg. Time was critical for her two crewmates, but she'd learned long ago: you get hasty, you get killed. Ears attuned for the slightest change of sound in the next room, she slipped a long, thin blade from its boot sheath.

Slinking around the edge of the doorway, she spotted her quarry. Luckily, for her at least, the bald man paid no heed to his rear, focusing on the alleyway she'd just left, his weapon raised, finger on the trigger.

A wave of sorrow and fear punched her midsection. Visions of her beloved man Wash, pinned by a gorram Reaver spear, killed dead in the very seat where he felt most alive. Forcing the bitter memory into its box, a new one rose up like bile to replace it. Shepherd Book, bleeding and broken, surrounded by his decimated flock in the wreckage of the Alliance ship that had killed them. Haven, no longer a haven.

A sudden image of two men, both of whom she'd come to respect, jammed its way into her thoughts. Mal and Jayne laying dead in Whitefall's dingy street, sightless eyes staring unblinking into the eternal blistering sun. This bastard grinning as he fired the shots to take them down. Not an actual memory, not yet, but one she couldn't let become real.

_Focus! You're slipping_, she scolded, tamping down the distraction. During the War, she'd been so single-minded, able to shut away such random fears in a small part of her brain. Deal with that later. Deal with this now, so you don't have to deal with that later…

She'd gone through hell during the War. Or thought she had. Still young, idealistic, 'gung-ho and ready-to-go'. Hadn't lost anyone so close at that time. Soldiers died, fact of life. Knew that when they signed on. That time was different.

She'd only thought she knew what hell was, until brought face to ugly face with the personal reality of it that day in Mr. Universe's complex. Losing Wash. Facing down the Reaver horde. Slumping helpless, impotent, while a tiny broken girl had battled the monsters for her. For all of them.

Zoë gripped the hilt firmly, battling the demons in her mind. She would not lose anyone else. Not one more of her crew - her family - would die today if she could help it.

She crept on silent feet within arm's reach of him. Fair-sized man, she summed him up, not overly muscled, but wiry, looks to be quick. She raised the blade to slit his throat, quieting her breath. Best take him before he turns–

Whirling around from the doorway, the slick-headed man tried to bring the weapon to bear on her. Too close for a shot, he slammed the stock of his rifle at her head, catching her shoulder instead as she spun away. He lunged, but Zoë crouched away from his blow, springing up beneath him, slicing upward with the knife, hitting only air as he dove sideways out of reach.

Kicking hard at his hand before he could fire, she landed a vicious blow that cracked the smaller bones, releasing the weapon from his grip. Undeterred, he rolled neatly away, coming to rest on the balls of his feet before launching himself at her. The force of his body knocked her back against the battered counter. A thin, strong hand wrapped around her throat, squeezing the delicate tissues in on themselves, while his other, damaged appendage railed a forearm blow to her torso.

"Mama never… taught you…" she choked out, one hand digging at his fingers to release her throat "…how to… treat…"

A look of near comical surprise crossed his face, as he stared in disbelief at her knife's hilt protruding from between his ribs.

"…a lady?" Zoë finished, coughing as his grip slackened and fell away. Giving his inert body a shove, she pulled the blade free as he fell to the floor with a dull thud.

Quickly, Zoë cleaned her blade on the front of his shirt, sliding the weapon back into her boot before taking up his former post at the doorway.

The heat of battle had deafened her attention to the action outside, but as she took position, a sinking feeling slunk into her belly. No gunfire. No shouts. Dreading the worst, she peered out into the alleyway and felt her heart falter.

The remaining four enemy stood relaxed over two motionless bodies.

"No," she whispered through clenched teeth, watching in horror as Mal and Jayne were dumped unceremoniously into the bed of a wagon. Zoë checked her mare's leg, disappointment like a fist in her middle as she counted one round left. Not enough to take back the men.

Just enough to draw attention to her location, get herself shot and end any chance at recovering their bod- them, she forced herself to think. Recover them. Pragmatic as she was, Zoë couldn't bring herself to think that they were already dead. They'd be brought home. One way, or another.

Drawing back into the cover of the building's shadows, she watched Patience's men clamor onto the wooden contraption as the driver cracked his whip over the backs of the four-horse team.

With shrill whinnies and snorts, the team jolted forward into a gallop, hauling Zoë's crewmen – friends – family – away.

The wagon's shape hadn't quite faded from sight before Zoë broke cover and ran after it. At the edge of town, the horses had fallen into a steady, ground-eating pace. Stumbling to a halt, Zoë peered toward the horizon, noting the trail of dust the wagon left in its wake. She dug fingers into her side, to ease the stitch from sprinting, and gulped in large breaths of air, both to refill her lungs and calm her racing mind. Calling Serenity on the two-way transmitter, she dropped to a large rock, watching the cloud of dust grow further away.

***


	5. Chapter 5

Ghosts & Memories Past

Chapter 5 – Special Delivery

Athens' moon of Whitefall -

***

"Woo-hooo! Toldja we'd get 'em fast, din' I tell ya?" The grime-covered youth elbowed a grizzled older fella, nudging the larger inert body with the toe of his worn boot. "Ol' Patience gonna be right proud of us, ain't she Delm?"

Delm responded with a stream of brown juice spit over the side of the wagon, eyes never leaving the two poor saps laying in the hard wagon's floor.

"Toldja they weren't no big shots," the youth continued, near to bouncing out of his seat from excitement. "Din' really even need them Fed boys- coulda done it oursel's!"

His companion shot him a cold sideways glare.

"Shut yer hole, dumbass," Delm hissed low, casting a furtive glance to the man in the front seat. "Git yerself kilt, if ya wanna, but don't drag my ass into it!"

Younger man frowned hatefully at Patience's veteran hand. "Jus' sayin'," he whined softly, chastised and wary now. "Don' see they's so special. What the Feds want with 'em anyhow?"

Delm grunted. "Ain't our place t' care," he muttered. "But don't matter, Feds only want the big 'un. Smaller fella, Patience got use for. Got some kinda bad blood 'twixt her an' him, from afore you hired on."

His answer seemed to pacify the younger fella, much to Mal's disappointment. He'd hoped they'd keep chattering away, thinking he was still knocked out from that crack on the back of the head from one of their pistol butts. Just his luck, even the gabby one held his tongue at the mention of the Fed up front of the wagon.

Mal schooled his body to seem relaxed, still watching them surreptitiously through barely-slitted eyes. No sense stirring them up again, only earn him another whack on the brainpan, and he already had a knot swelling up there he wouldn't soon forget. At least he hadn't been shot. Yet. Knowing Patience, she'd declared a moon-wide edict that all Mal Reynolds-shooting would be reserved for her own self.

Only good thing come out of today's screw up was that Zoë'd got away. He hoped. Went into the building after that other Fed, neither one had come out before Mal'd got jumped. But the other fella wasn't here with them, so Mal's money was on Zoë. All the years he'd known her, woman hadn't let him down. Even now, like as not she was rounding up Serenity to come blazing after them, ready to mount up a daring rescue full of thrillin' heroics, as Jayne would say.

Mal wished his tough as nails gun hand was among the posse coming to his rescue, but that weren't gonna happen. He could feel the big man laying up against his back, had eased his bound hands secretly enough to feel Jayne was similarly trussed, wrists and ankles. His crewman hadn't moved since they'd been tossed into the bed of the wagon, except being jostled about a bit by the crappy roads, but Mal was reassured by the steady rise and fall of the big man's breathing against his back.

His earlier fear of Jayne bleeding to death had eased up. After all, what use did the Feds have for a dead mercenary, and why would they bother hauling his heavy ass into the wagon if he'd already met his maker? What use did the Fed have for his mercenary in the first damned place?

The whole ruttin' mess made about as much sense as little River Tam on a bad day. Mal figured the Feds would be all over himself, seeing how it was him what sent the broadwave exposing the Alliance's crimes on Miranda. And Serenity was his ship, after all.

But Jayne? Man had a few outstanding warrants on worlds here and there, but nothing urgent enough to set him off the ship. And for certain, not serious enough to go to all the trouble of a set-up. Boggled his already fuzzled mind.

***

Nobody called her granny.

Despite her gray hair, her diminutive stature, her wizened face, her almost pleasant, homey accent… not one person who ever peered into her eyes would mistake her for a sweet little old lady.

Suited Patience just fine. Didn't want no one thinking she was soft. Not for longer than it was useful, anyhow, which was long enough for them to drop their guard. Any ruttin' fool expected her to whip out a batch of cookies would get their surprise, for certain.

And Mal Reynolds was a ruttin' fool. Patience let out a snort, drawing glances from the men posted on the high mud-brick wall surrounding her compound. She liked that word, compound. Sounded fancified, and near military, befittin' a woman of her influence.

She'd come up from a mere arranged wife of the area's top land owner to damn near Mayor of this whole spinnin' rock. Patience didn't bother hiding a satisfied smirk, thinking on the last time her hateful husband had complained she ought to be cooking and not worrying about the running of his business. Wouldn't be asking for dim sum ever again, nor getting her plans all muddled up.

A shout from the outlying guards roused her from the memory of her long-belated husband's shouting red face turned suddenly purple.

"Wagon comin'!" the scout shouted, setting the compound into a flurry of activity. Three men pushed hard on the crank to open foot-thick wooden gates as a dust cloud drew closer.

The old woman let her grin spread. Mal Reynolds made a fool of her last time they'd dealt, but it would be the last time. He wouldn't be dealing with her, or anyone else, for much longer.

***

The constant bumping eased up as the wagon rolled to a halt, delivering the two bound men through what Mal was certain were the gates of Hades. Patience's lair sat smack in the middle of nowhere, and he knew the old bat was wary enough to post lookouts in all directions. Made the daring rescue he hoped for a bit less solid, but he had faith in his crew.

"Lookee here, Miz Patience! We done got 'em for ya!" The loudmouth youth shoved Mal's hip with the flat of his foot. "Still breathin' an' all, jus' like ya told us!"

Mal bit back a disgusted snort, focusing on the light yet firm tread of boots stopping next to the wagon.

"Well. That ya did, boys. Mal Reynolds, all trussed up like a U-Day goose," she chuckled. "His man Cobb, too, looks like. Our new business partner'll be happy at that. You fellas go make sure everything's ready for our guests here."

"Yes'm, Miz Patience," Delm answered, taking the pup with him. "You want I should send a man here to guard 'em?"

"Naw," she drawled, poking Mal's ribs with the barrel of her shotgun. "Reckon that high-powered knock-out juice and the whack to the brain oughta keep 'em out for a while. You boys run on, now, do as I say. You too, Mr. 'Smith'. Reckon your boss wants a word with you. I'll keep an eye on these two, don't you worry 'bout that."

Something about her tone turned Mal's blood to ice. Took everything he had to lay there playing possum, especially when she leaned a bit closer, planting the cold double barrels to his cheek.

"Don't know as I ever met a bigger ruttin' fool than you, Malcolm Reynolds. Got balls, you do, comin' back here after the ruckus you caused last time. Cost me a bunch of men, then and now. Cost me a bit of reputation, too. First part I can excuse. Second…" her quiet laugh lacked mirth. "Second part, now that's more than I can bear. But don't you worry. Ol' Patience'll get hers back come tomorrow. Don't you worry none a'tall."

***

"Subject is in custody, sir. Awaiting orders."

"Well done, Mr. Smith. Contain subject, maintain comm silence until we instruct you otherwise."

"Affirmative, sir. What about the other one, Reynolds?"

"The arrangement with our associate stands. No need to disrupt relations at this stage of the plan." The stern face on the vid screen peered back at him sharply. "That bothers you, Smith?"

"No, no-" the man quickly answered. "I follow orders, sir, you know that. It's just…"

A black brow cocked back at him.

"I was just thinking… that Reynolds was responsible for exposing the Miranda project. Surely having him in our possession could be… useful, a bargaining chip if need be?"

"I appreciate your ability to look ahead," the cold voice responded, clearly indicating otherwise. "But Reynolds is not our priority. A petty thief who runs an outdated transport ship in the middle of the Black, and no concern to us. 'Cobb' is our primary objective. An unnecessary squabble with your hostess is precisely the type of distraction he'd exploit to escape."

Smith tried not to flinch back as the face loomed closer, filling the screen.

"This 'Jayne Cobb' is dangerous, and well-trained, more so than even you realize, Smith, and critical to our progress. It would not go well for someone who allowed him to elude us further, do I make myself clear? Do not, in any manner, underestimate this man. Dong le mah?"

Smith swallowed loudly. "I understand, sir."

"See that you do, Smith. You'll receive delivery coordinates by nightfall, priority encryption. I'm sure I don't need to explain the need to avoid any unwanted interference from… governmental sources. Complete black ops protocol, am I clear?"

"Clear, sir."

Staring at the blackening vid screen, Smith allowed himself a small shudder, firming his resolve to get the subject back to the rendez-vous with no complications. He'd guard the man as if his life depended on it. Apparently, it did.

***


	6. Chapter 6

Ghosts & Memories Past Chapter 6

Author: Brandywine00

Rating: T, maybe M later?

Disclaimer: Didn't dream them up, don't own them, don't make any cashy-money off of them. Joss is boss.

Thanks to everyone for the continued interest in this tale, and for the shiny comments and questions. Reviews help me write better (I hope – LOL!) Special thanks to jellie_rayneluv for beta and help with this fic.

Jayne has a secret, buried so deep even he doesn't know…

****

Chapter Six – Held

Athens' moon of Whitefall…

_Dull throbbing behind his eyes pulls him up from the foggy depths of dreams. He fights it._

_Struggles to stay with her… _

_His siren with clear blue eyes, and dark sweat-dampened hair, and his name on her mouth. Draped across the bed they've just shared, she smiles over her shoulder at him. Sultry, kiss-plundered lips call him lovers' names._

"_Baby, vozvrashaycya v'postyel."_

_He reaches his hand to caress the soft, creamy skin of her back and she moans low and content._

"_Vih bih eeskooshat dyavola v nyebyesah, moy angel," he says, dragging his fingertips across her satin flesh, trailing down long, toned legs. He sighs with regret. "Wish I had a few more hours, but if I'm not at the meeting in half an hour, my ass is on a plate."_

_Her throaty laugh sends tremors down his body. _

"_Well… since I'm fond of your ass exactly as it is, I suppose I shouldn't keep you."_

_She rests her cheek on crossed arms, half-closed eyes languidly watching him dress._

_The temptation to join her is nearly too strong to resist. For a woman like this… no, for this woman… he'd almost give it all up. She's not just another beauty who's enchanted him with her luscious curves. She's probably the worst thing he could get mixed up with, could bring his world crashing around his feet. She's the only woman who's ever made him consider leaving it all behind, reaching for the one thing he long ago abandoned dreams of – a normal life._

_Brushing a parting kiss in the small of her back, he leaves her before it's too late._

_She's slipped back into his mind's fog, leaving him so empty… he knows with finality that he'll never return to her. That even though she wasn't entirely what she seemed, what they shared was real, irreplaceable. Her name splinters from his lips, hoping against expectation that she'll come back._

_He dives back into the haze, seeking just one more glimpse of her, but other faces swarm up from the muddled soup of his mind. Faces intent on danger and deception and destruction. He swings at them, grappling, kicking, punching with precision to repel them as they clutch at him. _

_The faces grow macabre, mutilated and lit with an eerie madness. Their weapons not just guns and blades and hard fisted-hands, but teeth sharpened to points, stained with human blood. Throwing them off, he focuses on the urgent voice in the distance dragging him toward daylight, leaving his ghosts howling in the wake of shadow and confusion._

***

"Jayne!" The urgent whisper snaps him to awakeness, the fog of his dreams fading like vapors in the sun. The barest image of a woman lingers, then fades with them. He reaches his mind toward her, willing himself to recall her name, what she looked like besides the shadowy silhouette turning from him. Is she the Jayne being called with a hint of irritable desperation?

"_Gorramit, Jayne! Wake the hell up before they come back!"_

_Eyes crack open to survey the environment, though he holds still, feigning sleep until he can assess the situation. Don't give away your advantage, soldier, likely to be the only one you have._

_Rope binding around his wrists, ankles. Dry, warm stone floor under his cheek. Dim room bisected by dust motes floating in the single streak of light from a high, narrow opening. Pungent smell of old urine. Sounds of men milling about beyond the window slit. Aggravating toe of a boot prodding him between the shoulder blades. An authoritative male voice nearby… behind him._

_The toe pokes again. "Ruttin' hell, Jayne, what'd they shoot you with, horse tranq?"_

_The man keeps muttering in an oriental language. Mandarin, his mind tags it, but bastardized. Chinese, then. He's a prisoner to the Chinese. He can't remember how this came to be, or why his brain tells him the situation's worse than it seems._

"_Jayne Cobb, I swear you don't wake up ma shong, I'm gonna wave every whorehouse this sector and tell 'em you got rut-rot! Ain't a workin' gal in the 'verse'll take you on, not an' risk bein' shut down three months to make sure they're clear. Now come on, Jayne, you ornery hun dan! They're comin' back soon!" Foot shoves him harder this time._

_He rolls sharply to face the man, instinctively sizing him up. Caucasian, medium build, brown hair, fair enough features, hard blue eyes glinting at him. Brown duster, well-made boots that have seen a lot of wear, holster – empty – strapped to his thigh. The man is bound like himself, wrists in back, ankles loosely tied with rope. So…ally, perhaps. Or criminal, if they're in some third-world jail, as the amenities, and the smell, would suggest._

_He looks the man in the eye, and receives the same steady intensity looking back at him. Man isn't afraid to look him in the eye, and no apparent malice there._

"_Well, Sunshine, you enjoy your beauty rest?"_

_He grunts, feeling his skull begin to pound._

"_Don't know what they knocked you out with, Jayne, but you slept like the gorram departed," the man says quietly. "There for a while, thought permaybehaps you'd gone on to your dear and fluffy maker."_

"_Where are we?" Words taste like wool socks crammed in his mouth. Old, dirty wool socks._

"_Patience's place. Outbuilding a little off the main house." The man rolls to his knees and turns facing away. "Sure we ain't got much time 'till they come back. See if you can get at these knots."_

_He gives the man a hard look, not sure if this fellow will return the favor or leave him at a disadvantage. Yet the man's tone and body language speak of a familiarity between them, and a trust. And more, an expectation that he'll follow the order. _

_Giving the rope a quick examination, he maneuvers back-to-back, working the knots with a skill and speed that surprises himself. As the binding slips loose, the man removes the ankle rope and whips around to quickly return the favor._

"_Thanks, mister," he says to the man, and his still-spinning mind realizes the mistake as soon as the words are out of his mouth. His cell-mate stares sharply at him for a long moment, then shakes his head, a grin on one side of his mouth._

"_Huh. Musta been some powerful go se they took you down with. Not only kept you out for three whole hours- musta addled your brainpan a bit! Jayne Cobb sayin' 'thanks' and callin' me 'mister' all in one breath!"_

_He doesn't waste time trying to find out more about the man. May be time later, after they're free. Maybe not. He peers up at the high opening, trying to see more than shadows passing by, when the man grabs him by the shoulder, spinning him around. The cool blue stare is steady and determined._

"_Ya got somethin' ya need to get off your chest, Jayne?"_

_Senses instantly alert, he knocks the hand off his sleeve, body settling into fighting stance. How far can this man be trusted? Far enough to enlighten him that 'Jayne Cobb', which appears to be his name, doesn't have a clue as to what's going on and much, much less than that?_

"_Here's the happy news, Jayne. It ain't just Patience… woman's got it in for me, for certain, but…I've got a powerful need to know what you've done. Patience is one thing, but the gorram Alliance? You do somethin' brings them after me and mine, I gotta right to know what it is, dong ma? So now would be the time for show an' share, Jayne."_

_He stares back at the man, certain his confusion is evident, but unable and unwilling to give this stranger an upper hand on his situation. Gritting his teeth behind tight lips, he tries to read the man's posture again without luck._

"_Feds are after you with a will, Jayne, and they want you alive. What the hell have you done, Cobb?"_

****

Translations*:

Russian:

"Baby, vozvrashaycya v'postyel." (возвращайся в постель): Baby, come back to bed.

"Vih bih eeskooshat dyavola v nyebyesah, moy angel." (Вы бы искушать дьявола в небесах, мой ангел): You'd tempt the devils back to heaven, my angel.

*Author's notes on translations: Russian translation courtesy of Full Text Translator at Dictionary (dot) com. Transliteration of cyrillic to roman alphabet is mine, and very rusty, so please wave me if I mussed up a pronunciation, so I can fix it! Spaseeba! *Thanks!* Thanks to Jellie_rayneluv for finding this nifty little translator!


	7. Chapter 7

Ghosts & Memories Past Chapter 7

Author: Brandywine00

Rating: T, maybe M later?

Disclaimer: Don't own them, don't make any cashy-money off of them. Joss rules!

Thanks to everyone for the continued interest in this tale, and for the shiny comments and questions! Reviews help me write better (I hope – LOL!) Special thanks to jellie_rayneluv for beta and help with this fic.

Jayne has a secret, buried so deep even he doesn't know…

Chapter Seven – Knots

****

Whitefall, fourth moon of Athens…

*

The man ain't been right since Miranda.

Mal watched his gunhand with a growing unsettledness that nearly outdid the hammering in his brainpan.

Jayne was still laid on his side, tied up. The last few minutes, the big man started muttering, and wincing, the first signs he was coming out of the tranq-induced slumber. He needed to get on about it, if they were gonna have any chance to bust out of Patience's makeshift jail before she made good on her threat. Mal didn't care to speculate on her idea of 'getting hers back.'

The raw skin on Mal's wrists throbbed as he kept trying to loosen the ropes binding them behind his back. Not much likelihood of breaking through, but damned if he'd just sit there waiting for the old bat to end him. Felt too much like the prison camps after the War, not a scenario he wanted to revisit.

"Jayne, ya big hun dan, ya sure picked a fine time to piss off the Feds."

A hateful thought flickered through his brain, wondering if Jayne hadn't turned on him again, called the Feds in secret and got double-crossed himself. Just as quick, the idea died. The captain was fair certain Jayne's days of looking only to himself at the crew's expense were a thing long dead, and good riddance. If anything, seemed like he'd moved in the other direction.

Mal hadn't noticed it in the first days and weeks after the battle on Universe's moon. Then again, the shock of it all, and recuperating under the influence of the Alliances medications, kinda made observation difficult. Hated the bastards with a will, but he had to admit – they did have some pretty shiny meds when a man needed doctoring.

Whole crew kinda wallowed around in their own thoughts for a while after that, each trying to conjure some sense from what they knew, and what they'd done, and what they'd lost. Trying to suss out some plan of where to go from there. Even little Kaylee had a quiet, distant look about her, not the norm for Serenity's bouncing bundle of sunshine. Hell, not a soul on his whole crew was the same afterward, his own self included.

But Jayne had been different. More so than Zoë's stoic, pained determination, or Inara's lost look in the wake of finding her faith in the all-mighty Alliance weren't worth spit in the wind. Simon and River… well, the Tam siblings seemed to be trying to adjust to non-fugitive status. Hard shift, after running so long.

No, Jayne was… well, just being not-Jaynish. It weren't no particular thing, else he could put a name on it. The man was taciturn to begin with, not as chatty as most unless the conversation turned to shootin' or whorin' or bawdy jokes. He was a regular font of conversation, then. Of late, however he'd been keeping to his bunk more often than not. Did his job without too much grumbling, took his meals in near silence, held up his turn at chores, but not much more.

He didn't wanna go into town, unless it was for a job, or Mal ordered it. No card games. No hoop-ball. Not even any whorin', far as Mal could tell, not that he was all-fired interested in Jayne's brothel habits, but you travel with a man for a while, you get to know his ways. Hell, only free time he used outside his own bunk was the late-night, intense work-out sessions, which were longer and more frequent than before. Jayne pushed himself so hard, Simon had even dared interrupt him to express concern. And Jayne – another very un-Jayne-like reaction – hadn't cussed him, or mocked him, or threatened to beat him senseless.

He'd simply stared at Doc with an eerie-assed look and nodded. Mumbled something about 'takin' it under advisement', before plunging himself back into repetition after repetition with a bar weight that Mal didn't think he himself could even budge. Like he was fighting his personal demons by punishing his own body. Or maybe, trying desperately to make it stronger in order to fight those demons.

It was like the whole ordeal over Miranda had hit him harder than the rest. Or maybe it was little River's whackin' him with a serving tray – gal was stronger than she looked, and wicked fast. Another thing, Mal mused as he strained his already worn arms against the bonds. Jayne had been – again, no certain thing – just not Jaynely when it came to the girl. Passing her an extra biscuit. Moving aside to let her pass in the hall, though Mal could understand giving her some distance after her spectacle in The Maidenhead, and again fighting the Reavers. Now that he thought on it, he didn't think Jayne'd even called her Moonbrain once since that day, and the man never missed an opportunity to point out River's less-than usual mental status.

He'd been especially helpful to Kaylee. Extra-watchful over Zoë during the jobs in the days following Wash dying. Even particularly sensitive toward Inara, and damned if Mal hadn't caught him calling her 'Ma'am'. Almost like Shepherd Book's passing had shown Jayne the light, so to speak. Of all the folk on Serenity, Book had gotten closest to the burly mercenary, no doubt gotten the man to confess things Mal could only guess at. Not that he wanted to know.

Mal could almost find the change humorous, except the current situation weren't. Jayne may have 'got religion' after Book's death, but the captain didn't lay odds on that helping either of them now. The big man was still out of commission, laying here in Patience's dungeon, twitching and mumbling some kinda go se nonsense that Mal couldn't quite make out, and a-whimpering in a most un-Jaynely fashion.

The pounding in his head took seconds to the sudden banging from outside. Mal cocked his head, trying to place that sound, a chill running up his neck as he identified it. Hammers. A whole slew of them, too. Only a few scenarios offered themselves to him as to what that racket meant, and not one of them included Mal Reynolds living to a ripe old age.

Spurred by a renewed sense of impending doom, Mal poked his boot into Jayne's back.

"Jayne!" He whispered with growing urgency. "Gorramit, Jayne! Wake the hell up before they come back!"

The merc's muscles tensed almost imperceptively, but he didn't move. "Ruttin' hell, Jayne," Mal prodded him again between the shoulder blades. "What'd they shoot you with, horse tranq?"

This weren't going nowhere fast as it needed. No telling how soon Patience would run outta patience.

"Jayne Cobb, I swear you don't wake up ma shong, I'm gonna wave every whorehouse this sector and tell 'em you got rut-rot! Ain't a workin' gal in the 'verse'll take you on, not an' risk bein' shut down three months to make sure they're clear. Now come on, Jayne, you ornery hun dan! They're comin' back soon!" Mal shoved him with the flat of his foot, hard as he could manage while still tied up.

Jayne rolled quick to glare at him, icy blue eyes sharp as a knife so sudden it was unnerving, with a hint of… something menacing and unknown. Mal held the stare, trying to cipher out the cryptic look, and suddenly unwilling say anything to piss this man off at the moment. Something must have satisfied the gun hand's mind, though, as his eyes shifted to a less dangerous state. Only barely, Mal noted, daring an attempt at levity.

"Well, Sunshine, you enjoy your beauty rest?" he asked, not expecting more than the grunt he got in response. "Don't know what they knocked you out with, Jayne, but you slept like the gorram departed. There for a while, thought permaybehaps you'd gone on to your dear and fluffy maker."

"Where are we?"

"Patience's place. Outbuilding a little off the main house. Sure we ain't got much time 'till they come back. See if you can get at these knots." As he rolled to his knees, turning his bound hands and his back to his crewman, a niggling unease washed over him again. He hadn't always trusted this man, but over the past year, Jayne had proven himself time and again. Especially since the stand-off with Reavers and the Operative.

It shamed Mal in a little place in his mind, to feel untrusting when he turned his back to the man, but it was what it was, and long years of listening to his instincts had generally worked out to the good. He was still alive, and kicking pretty good, a lot better than some of his old comrades could claim. A few long seconds later, he felt Jayne's fingers work the knots loose – how the gorram hell did he make it seem so easy with his hands behind his own back – and Mal felt the ropes fall. Loosening his feet, he swiveled around to free Jayne.

"Thanks, mister."

See, now, it's just that sorta thing right there that's off, his mind said. Mal stared at him for a second or two before shaking it off. Tranq darts do all manner of feng le things to a body's head, he reckoned.

"Huh. Musta been some powerful go se they took you down with. Not only kept you out for three whole hours- musta addled your brainpan a bit! Jayne Cobb sayin' 'thanks' and callin' me 'mister' all in one breath!"

Jayne seemed to barely registered the comments before turning to examine the high window. But tranq-addled head or not, the man still had some clearing up to do. Clapping a firm hand on the bigger man's shoulder, Mal pulled him back around to get some answers.

"Ya got somethin' ya need to get off your chest, Jayne?"

Before the words were barely past his lips, Jayne slapped his hand away, his whole body seeming to crouch, ready to spring, but without losing any of his intimidating height. Uncanny how he could manage that, Mal thought. A handy thing when they were on the job facing down bandits. Downright disquieting when it was directed back at himself.

Jayne eyed him, like he was sizing him up, or deciding just how much to tell of whatever he'd done. He'd better tell the whole ruttin' thing, if they were gonna get out of this hole in one piece.

"Here's the happy news, Jayne. It ain't just Patience… woman's got it in for me, for certain, but…I've got a powerful need to know what you've done. Patience is one thing, but the gorram Alliance? You do somethin' brings them after me and mine, I gotta right to know what it is, dong ma? So now would be the time for show an' share, Jayne."

Gorramit, now would be the time for talkin', Jayne, if you wanna keep your job, Mal thought bitterly, wondering how deep the mercenary's sins could truly be. The look on Jayne's face was wary, his jaw flexing and fists clenched, like the big man was trying to keep the words firmly in his own mouth. Mal was suddenly sure he didn't want to really hear those words, but there was no help for it. If they couldn't clear the air between them now, no way he could truly trust this man again.

"Feds are after you with a will, Jayne, and they want you alive. What the hell have you done, Cobb?"

Mal almost wished he'd confess to some horrible crime, a betrayal, an affinity for dressing in women's frilly unders. Anything. It had to be better than the searching, damn-near pleading look on the merc's face as he stood there, the muscles in his jaws flexing and relaxing, flexing and relaxing.

Jayne was starting to scare the go se out of him, and not in the usual 'big scary' kinda way. After a moment, he wet his lips and took a deep breath.

"It's hard to explain," Jayne said, relaxing his stance just a bit, scrubbing the palms of his hands down against his thighs. "I'm not quite sure how to – "

A sudden jingling sounded from beyond the door. Both men whipped around to face the thick wooden barrier as a man cussed softly on the other side.

"Chance it's somebody comin' to spring us?" Jayne asked, not quite sounding like he was joking.

"Only other man on our boat being Doc, whadda you think?" Mal threw back, motioning to one side of the portal. Quick and quiet, each man took a side, crouching flush as possible to the wall as the cell door eased slowly outward.

"See, whad'I tell ya?" a man's whispered voice crept through the slightly cracked opening. "Tol'ja I could getcha down here, no problem."

Mal recognized the voice as the younger thug from the wagon ride.

"Shut yer yap," a gruffer voice whispered loudly into the dim room. "Don't wanna wake 'em 'til I got 'em split open, dong ma? You jus' show me which-un shot my baby brother out there an' stay outta my way, dong ma?"

"Ya din' say nothin' 'bout cuttin'," the first whined nervously. "Patience ain't gonna be happy, ya steal her fun, an' them Feds… they want th' biggun alive. Don' be killin' 'em, or we'll be next."

Mal glanced over at Jayne through the darkness as a faint scuffling came from outside the door. Few advantages to be had, but there were hopefully at least two. The men outside didn't know their prisoners were untied, and the hours spent in darkness had let the two crewmen's eyes adjust to the dim light. Any luck, those two outside were coming in from the harsh sun, and wouldn't see that their quarry was about to pitch a jailbreak.

A dull thump echoed through the room, and the soft sliding sound like a body slumping along a wall. Two seconds later, the sparse light from the cracked door grew a little wider, and Mal easily made out the form of a man creeping into the cell.

Damn fool didn't have sense enough to let his eyes adjust to the dark, Mal thought, and glad of it. Giving Jayne a slight nod toward the man, he sprung quietly into the doorway as Jayne launched himself silently at the would-be attacker. He quickly scanned the narrow hallway outside their prison, noting the slumped body laying close to the wall, and turned to see Jayne end the other man. The snapping of neck bones echoed through the chamber, but the man made no other sound. Quick, clean, efficiently deadly. Once again, Mal was glad Jayne was on his side, or at least hoped he was.

"We ain't done with our conversation," he warned softly, tipping his chin to the exit and scavenging the younger man's pistol. A dark stain blossomed across the henchman's chest, testimony to his so-called friend's desire for revenge. "We'll pick that topic up later, dong le ma?"

Jayne nodded curtly after the briefest of pauses, stowing the other man's knife and collecting the sheath. The hallway ran alongside their former jail-cell, and was little more than a fifteen-foot long, rough-hewn passage cut out of the hard desert dirt. The two men stealthed their way up the straight, narrow corridor toward the faint strip of brightness shining in from the almost-closed door. Somebody'd lodged a narrow rock in the portal to keep the heavy wooden door from locking back when it shut, most likely one of the men laying dead behind them. Mal woulda thanked whichever, if they'd not been after doing him and his friend bodily harm.

His friend. There it was, Mal thought. An automatic name to the man hunkered beside him, scanning through the slip of the door with laser-sharp eyes. Jayne was his friend, his gut said. His brain wasn't quite as convinced, but at least in this life-or-death situation, their mutual danger threw them in the same ship, lock, stock and barrel.

Jayne's icy stare narrowed as the hammering outside continued.

"Doesn't look like a gallows," he said, deep voice low and nearly hidden beneath the racket outside. "Not a configuration I can place, though it's assuredly some device for torture or execution."

Mal bit his tongue, unwilling to risk drawing attention to their jailbreak by shouting at the gun hand, though his hard look must have registered. Jayne raised a brow, though he clearly didn't understand the reason behind Mal's steady stare.

"Honestly, you had to expect the noise was working toward something of this nature, didn't you? We weren't exactly invited here as honored guests for parley," he scoffed, turning his attention back to the scene.

Plenty enough time later to get his answers, Mal decided, though that time would be immediately after they were clear of this mess. Plenty of time slogging it back to Serenity, unless Zoë risked a close fly-in, to find out what the hell Jayne had been muttering about back there. To find out what, short of Reaver-attack, got him so worked up it'd give the hardened merc nightmares. Find out what the go se the Feds wanted a simple gun hand like Jayne for, and most especially wanted him alive.

More than anything, Mal could wait, patiently or impatiently, he'd wait to find out the most disturbing thing. Where the ruttin' hell did Jayne's Rim-bred accent go?

***

Author's note: Sorry this chapter took so long. Life and other stuff, and the NaNoWriMo challenge, have cut back my brain power. Posts may be slower this month, but I tried to make up for it with a longer chapter this time out. Writing this and the other ongoing Firefly fic I have started (Moonlight & Serenades – M) is actually a good breather from the other stuff. Thanks for the continued interest, comments and guesses as to the "mystery" that lurks beneath.

Please to click the shiny comment/review button and let me know your synaptic processes? Purty please for to review? I'd send you a cookie and milk, but it made the keyboard soggy and crumbly last time. Still trying to get past that – LOL!


	8. Chapter 8

Ghosts & Memories Past Chapter 8

Author: Brandywine00

Rating: T, maybe M later?

Disclaimer: Don't own them, don't make any cashy-money off of them. Joss rules!

Thanks to everyone for the continued interest in this tale, and for the shiny comments and questions! Reviews help me write better (I hope – LOL!) Special thanks to jellie_rayneluv for beta and help with this fic.

Jayne has a secret, buried so deep even he doesn't know…

Chapter Eight – Busted

* * * *

Whitefall, fourth moon of Athens…

_He peers intently around the corner, watching for the break. Heart hammers as loud and furious as the iron tools banging together the scaffolding, apparently a hanging station._

'_He knows.' The flare of panic floods his mind, threatens to drown out the pounding outside, but he takes several deep, slow, almost imperceptible breaths. _

'_Control the breathing, control the mind, control the situation.' A face appears in his mind. A memory, seen through his own eyes as he's being thrown through the air. Air jolts out of his lungs as he slams hard against the ground. A man hovering over him. Not finishing him off with a death blow he knows the man could perform as easily as swatting an insect, offering a hand. _

_A lesson that has kept him alive through many deadly situations, though he can't name them any more than he can name the dark-skinned, white-garbed man who imparts the knowledge. He knows this man is the teacher. He trusts this man. But doesn't trust this man. The image twists again. Something has happened, turned the master into a slave, trying to ensnare the student as well._

_He shakes off the warping thoughts, no help to him now. With renewed urgency, he concentrates on the activity outside. The hammering two leave off, mumble something about food._

* * *

"Three on guard," he relayed quietly to his compatriot as the other handed him a large revolver lifted of the attackers. Its weight and heft felt right in his hand as he checked the chambers for ammunition. Three rounds, no spares. They'd have to get out unseen if possible. Three bullets would take out the guards, but who knew how many would come rolling out of the house for backup when the firing started.

"Two on the high wall, facing out of the compound. One working a rotation, around the main house, back to the gatehouse, back here. He's just left the gatehouse. Heading this way."

"Can the top two see us here?" the man whispered back as the patrolling guard drew closer to the cracked doorway. "That guy gonna see the slip in the door?"

He studied the inbound guard for a moment, and shakes his head in the dim light. "Not likely. Wall guards are watching for something out there. This one, he's barely paying attention. Thinks we're still under lock and key, most likely."

"Right," said the other. "We wait till he slides around the house, make a run for it? Slip over the wall across from the house, slip into the brush and over the hills before they notice."

Leveling a stare at the man, he hesitated to ask, knowing it would give away more than he cared to explain at the moment. Huffing out a hard sigh he stared back through the slit of light and dove into the question.

"You have any idea which direction help may be in?"

The cheery smile answering should have seemed out of place under the grim circumstances, yet somehow it fit the man.

"Matter a-fact, bein' the good captain I am, I paid attention to which way they was haulin' us. Unlike certain folk in my employ. We just head away from the sun, stay low till we break the horizon, run like hell back toward town. Zoë oughta have a bead on the compound, should be able to meet up with Serenity 'fore we much get past the gates."

"That's your plan? Smell a lot of 'ought to' and 'should' rolling off that plan of yours."

"You got a better idea springin' up in that noggin of yours, now'd be the time to share," the answer came back, riding on no small amount of sarcasm. "No? Well, let's be on our merry, then."

* * *

Mal Reynolds never cared to trust luck. Luck had a bad habit of letting a man down when it was needed most. Luck and hisself hadn't been the closest of bedmates in the past few years. But just when he expected his luck to let him down right on schedule, damned if it didn't pan out.

Slipping among the scrub and withered trees, the two fugitives darted for the range of hills about three hundred yards from the wall. Staying low and moving in stages from cover to cover, they made the hills before any alarm went up, threading their way to the other side, breaking to a full-out run once they were out of direct line of sight.

Jayne took the lead, setting a fair quick but steady pace. Following in the big man's footsteps, Mal concentrated on putting one foot in front of the next, getting as much distance between Patience and the Feds and themselves while they still had the light.

Sun was working both for and against them. Mal hated the idea of trying to run on unfamiliar ground in the dark. Too easy to drop into a ravine or twist an ankle and then where would they be? But the fading rays also gave pursuers a good look at where they were, too, hence the need to keep moving.

Hot late-afternoon sun beat down on their backs as they ran in silence, the only noises coming from their boots hitting hard ground and the rhythmic labored breaths from their lungs. Mal kept an ear open for the sounds of discovery, alarms being raised, skiffs or horses charging after them, but so far so good.

Pounding after his mercenary, Mal nearly stared a hole through the big man's back as he followed in the wake. Weren't no time to stop and palaver, but sure as nine hells would be some explaining going on when the sun set and they could take a break. And wouldn't that be fun, he snarked silently. Jayne'd better be ready to chat, else the airlock would be a pleasant alternative.

Whole gorram mess confused the hell outta Mal. Jayne Cobb weren't no criminal mastermind that the Feds should be after hot and heavy. Unless he was so damned good at hiding the truth about himself that even Mal and Zoë'd been fooled. Not to mention the belated Shepherd Book, who'd definitely been more than a preacher-man in his lifetime. That man had known more about crime and government than was seemly in a holy man, and had a way of seeing into a man's nature. His easy friendship with Jayne had to count for something, as did the way the big lug had taken a more personal, protective attitude toward the whole crew since Miranda.

"Cao!" he cursed his wool-gathering as loose gravel slipping beneath his feet, sending him sliding a few feet down the steep hillside. The friction shoved loose gravel and debris under his shirt, scraping the tender flesh along his ribs and back as he clawed for purchase.

"Dammit," Jayne answered, stopping short and angling carefully down the embankment to grab Mal's wrist. Hauling him back to his feet, the big man scowled at the captain, letting out an aggravated huff, but holding his tongue.

"'Preciate that," Mal ground out as he shook out the twigs and dirt from his shirt, pissed now at himself and just as much at Jayne for the whole situation.

"You hurt anywhere?"

"Bruised pride, scraped ego," Mal grimaced.

"Good. Need to keep moving, not a lot of daylight left," the merc growled. After a quick glance in the direction they'd just come from, he turned sharply, resuming the ground-eating pace back toward town.

Mal stood there a second before hitting the trail again behind the big man. Jayne taking lead. Jayne helping him up without nary a smart-assed comment. Jayne getting on with the business of getting away without whingeing or bitching about things that were over and done and couldn't be changed.

The second they slowed down, Jayne Cobb was gonna do some explaining, if it had to come at the barrel of Mal's gun.

The notion that it wouldn't need come to that may have been the strangest of all, Mal thought, his frown chasing after the man who he once thought he knew.

* * *

Steep hills give way to rolling ground. Dust burns his lungs like dry fire blasting through his chest. Can't slow down, can't stop, can't rest.

_No rest for the wicked._

_Must have been pretty wicked to earn this hell. Spotty memories. No real idea of his own damned name. Or why someone wants to capture him. What do these Feds want with him? Torture for secrets? Laughter sits below his heavy breathing. What the hell could he possibly tell them?_

_He knows he doesn't want to find out what they want, nor how they intend to extract it. Doesn't particularly want the questions brewing in the other man's mind either. No way around that, just as soon as they stop he knows he'll have to deliver. Not sure how the other will deal with the answers, or even if he'll be believed._

_Too late for it now, sun's nearly gone down. Pile of rocks off to the left, decent enough cover for a bit._

_His fingers dig into his side to ease the sharp pain that's sprung up in the past few minutes. He's not used to this long-distance running, it would seem, yet somehow his body, his legs and lungs and mind, know the drill. Steady pace. Economy of movement to preserve strength and breath. Pick a point ahead. Attain it. Pick another point._

"_Head over to that outcrop of rock," the other says, no mistaking the order in his tone. "Looks to be good as any place to hold up for now. Catch our breath, get our bearins."_

'_Get some answers.' The words don't have to be spoken. He stops, turns to scan their trail._

_The fist slamming into his jaw is no surprise._

* * *

Author's Note : Sorry for the long delay, and much thanks to all who continue to follow this story. Let me know what you think? Reviews are shinier than a brand spankin' new Callahan! Thanks!


	9. Chapter 9

Ghosts & Memories Past Chapter 9

Author: Brandywine00

Rating: T, maybe M later?

Disclaimer: Don't own them, don't make any cashy-money off of them. Joss rules!

Thanks to everyone for the continued interest in this tale, and for the shiny comments and questions! Reviews help me write better (I hope – LOL!) Special thanks to jellie_rayneluv for beta and help with this fic.

Jayne has a secret, buried so deep even he doesn't know…

Chapter Nine – Confronted

* * * *

Whitefall, fourth moon of Athens…

Jayne glared up at Mal from the scrubby desert floor, rubbing his jaw. The large hand strayed toward his holster, but halted about halfway.

Mal didn't budge. If Jayne had wanted to, he could easily have killed Mal or left him to his own fate in that cell. Could have turned and shot him anytime while they ran. Mal wasn't a complete fool, despite what Patience may care to think. The man may have secrets, a checkered past and a lot of bad habits, but Mal put his money on what he'd seen of Jayne recently.

"Guess that's been building for a while," Jayne grumbled as he rose deftly to his feet. Still in defensive stance, Mal noted, but not overly aggressive. "Now that you've got it out of your system, I trust it won't happen again."

"Trust," Mal half-laughed. "Funny you should use that word."

Jayne scanned over his face, like the gun hand was searching for something elusive that wasn't quite defined. "I'd say trust has to play a pretty big role here, don't you? Unless, of course, you'd rather head back to the gallows and _trust_ your fate to them?"

The big man half turned and lowered himself onto a large boulder, resting his forearms on his knees as he stared back up at Mal. "I figure we trust each other, or else we both go down. Anyway, I know you trust me."

"That a fact?" Mal challenged, picking out his own rock to drop down on. "How'd you suss out that conclusion?"

"You untied me once you were loose. Wouldn't have given up that advantage if you didn't trust me," Jayne replied easily, ticking off on his long fingers, his cool blue stare never leaving Mal's. "You trusted me to handle the attacker with your back to me as you inspected his partner. You trusted me with a loaded weapon. Which _you_ gave to me. You trusted me determine the time to move from the jail. You trusted me to take the lead into the hills. You trusted me enough not to disable or kill me by shooting me in the back while we were running, which you safely could have once we were far enough away. Am I wrong on any point?"

Mal grunted, making a deal of emptying a rock out of his boot. "Guess when you put it like that, I could see where you'd think I trust you. Still, we got some issues to clear up, me and you, before we go any further."

"I figured we'd get back to that sooner or later," Jayne said, suddenly taking interest in cleaning the dirt from under his nails. "Though I'm not sure how many answers I'll have for you. But I assume with the… history," he said almost questioningly, "between us, I trust you too. Especially since, as stated, you didn't shoot me in the back when you could have."

"I shoot a man, he's facing me," Mal retorted, glaring hard at him. "You oughta know that by now, Jayne."

Gorram if the man didn't laugh, though the sound was bitter.

"You might be surprised at how much, or how little, I know. But I get that about you. You're not the kind to take the cheap shot. The honor in you shows through. I respect that. I just hope –" he hesitated, then huffed out a hard sigh. "I just hope I've earned enough of your respect at some point that you'll listen to what I have to say with an open mind. I give you my word here and now, man to man, that I'll answer your questions to the best of my ability."

He barked out that humorless laugh again. "If I've got anything to hide, I assure you I'm unfortunately not aware of it at the moment."

"What the ruttin' hell do you mean, you're not aware – aw, hell, Jayne, just spit it out, have done with it." Mal felt his patience slipping as his crewman's words worked around in his brain. "I didn't send ya out the airlock after Ariel, did I?"

Jayne stared at him in question.

"No, I ruttin' did not!" he answered himself. "Though at the time, you'd earned it, don't you think?"

The merc rubbed his hands over his face with a sigh. "Maybe it'd be better if we start over. Can you tell me how I came to be in that dungeon?"

"You gotta be kiddin' me… they musta used some real high-powered go se to knock you out, you can't remember gettin' taken down."

Raised brows.

"The gun fight?"

Frown of concentration.

"Deal in town bein' an ambush? Me, you an' Zoë gettin' pinned down by Patience's goons?"

"Zoë?" Jayne looked puzzled and a bit ashamed. "We left someone behind? I thought Zoë was the one who was going to pick us up."

Mal blew a hard sigh. "You got shot by tranqs, I got whacked on the head, Zoë went to take out the sniper who shot you and had us pinned down. I'm guessing she got him, since the only four haulin' us back to Patience didn't include that one. Gorramit, man, you've forgot just about everything but your own name."

That guarded look again. "It's Jayne Cobb. Isn't it?"

"Jay – of course it's Jayne ruttin' Cobb! What the –" Mal stopped short. "You ain't jokin', are ya? You really don't know your own – well, slap me ugly an' call me Badger. Guess ya don't recollect mine neither, do ya?"

He could see Jayne's prominent jaw tic as the big man clenched it hard, a boatload of worry trying to hide behind that stone façade. "Gorramit, Jayne, what'd they do to ya?"

Wide shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly as the big man let out a slow, heavy sigh. "I've got no idea," he said in a low voice. "You called me Jayne. And Cobb, so I pieced together that much. But really, I'm taking a huge chance letting you know… well, that I don't… don't know much of anything right now. And don't know why. Or even if I want to."

Jayne scrubbed his palms down his thighs, sitting up a little straighter and meeting Mal's eyes square and steady. "But I do know, somehow, from what I've seen of you today, that I trust you. Don't know why, but I know it. As sure as I'm sitting here."

Mal sat there stunned for a minute, trying to wrap his brain around the situation. "Huh."

"I know that I know you," Jayne continued with apparent frustration. "Even if I don't know how or why. So… I just have to go on the gut feeling that you'll do right by me. Hope you'll shed a little light on why I woke up hog-tied in a piss-ass jail cell with two inept would-be murderers, and can't remember a damned thing before that."

The captain ran a hand through his dark hair. "I conjure this all ain't from the tranq they hit you with. You ain't right, Jayne. Ain't been right for some while now, though I ain't really caught on to that 'till just recent."

"What do you mean, 'some while'? How long? How long have you known me? I take it we are allies, then?"

"Reckon allies works, though it ain't the best word. It's kinda convoluted, after Miranda and all. You're on my crew, but it's more than a crew after that whole scenario. We're all more like family now."

Jayne seemed to mull that over a moment as he checked the darkening horizon, a growing glow in the east heralding one of Whitefall's sister moons rising. "So who was Miranda?" he asked softly. "Did she die? Were we close?"

"Did she – no, she didn't die! I mean… Miranda weren't a person, she was – it was – it IS a place, gorram it!" Mal pressed his fingers into his temples to ease the pressure growing there. "Miranda is a long story, but it ain't a person, it's a place only all the people there were dead and we found out why and sent a wave that told everyone, and I ain't goin' into the whole battle we had against the Reavers right now. Just… let's just keep it simple for the here and now, can we?"

The gun hand nodded slowly, giving Mal the same look folk gave them what was tetched in the brainpan. He sighed and tried to start over.

"My name, which I gather ya don't recollect neither, is Captain Malcolm Reynolds. You call me Mal. Or Captain."

"I don't call you 'sir'?" Jayne frowned.

"You could call me 'sir' if ya took a notion, which would be a nice change, but ya don't generally. Only Zoë calls me 'sir'. But that's just cause we served together in the War."

"We didn't serve together?"

"You said ya didn't fight in the War."

"That doesn't sound like me."

"Well, how the guay would you know what ya sound like? Didn't even know yer own name 'till…" Mal took a deep breath. "You didn't serve with me in the War."

"So, you're Captain Malcolm Reynolds, who I don't address as an officer because I didn't serve in the military during the War," Jayne said, as if he were trying to memorize the intel.

"Weren't no officer in the War, I was a Sergeant. Zoë was my Corporal."

"But now you're a Captain."

"Right."

"Green and gold?"

"Green and who?"

"I don't know, but the words just popped into my head when you said that, so I figured you'd know."

"Got no ruttin' idea what yer on about with that," Mal broke in. "I was a Sergeant. Now I'm a Captain, but not in the military."

Mal held his hand up to stop the man from interrupting. "Captain of a ship. Serenity. Our home. Yer one of my crew. Hired on a few years back, after ya tracked us down and shot yer old boss, Marco. Don't say a word! Officially, yer the 'public relations' specialist. What that means is anyone what gets fussy not wantin' to pay us for a job, or takes a notion to double-cross us, you 'relate' to them why that ain't such a shiny idea. Generally with Boo or Vera, or sometimes Binky. Or that vicious right of yours."

"I rely on women to fight for me?" He sounded downright affronted at the idea.

"No, dumbass, those are your guns," Mal said patiently. "Boo, which I kindly retrieved offa that fella what was gonna gut ya, along with your knife Binky – an' yer welcome. Vera's your pride an' joy, but that Fed got her. You name all yer guns. Figured outta everything, your 'girls' would spark some rememb'rance."

He forged ahead. "Miranda was a whole screwed up situation, and ain't none of us been the same since then. My own self included, so don't think it's just you. But yer the one, now I been thinkin' on it, seems to have been hit the hardest by it all. Ain't been actin' yerself for months now, Jayne, but I guess I've been too wrapped up in my own brain over what's happened since we lost Wash and Book that I ain't noticed too much."

"We lost a book and a wash?"

Mal bit his lip, his stare growing hard. "Now I know you ain't right. Wash was our pilot. Hoban Washburne. Red-haired fella, liked to make jokes an' wear loud shirts and play with dinosaurs and flew better than any what I ever met. Zoë's husband. Speared through the chest by Reavers after he saved us all with his fancy flyin' skills. Book was… Book was the preacher man."

He halted, shaking his head as he softened a bit. "Now I'm for sure certain you ain't playin' at this, Jayne. You of all folks wouldn't make a joke about Book, him being gone to his rewards. You an' Book were friends. Used to spot each other for liftin' down in the cargo bay. He was… he tried to redeem us all from our wicked ways. Lately, seems like he did all right by you in the tryin'."

They sat in silence as the glowing crescent rose over the distant hills, each deep in his own musings for a while.

"Reckon we oughta try to rest," Mal finally suggested. "Think you can get any shut eye, what with the luxurious accommodations we got ourselves here?"

The large silhouette turned toward him, features barely discernable in the faint moonlight. "I ought to be falling down, as tired as I am," he confessed. "But I've got too much to think on, and I'm pretty sure our captors haven't given up the search yet."

"They did go to a heap of trouble to get us, didn't they? Any idea what the Alliance wants with you?"

"Honestly? Can't say, since I don't know exactly who the Alliance is, or what I may have done to piss them off. What about you? What did our host want you for, besides a lawn ornament?"

"Patience?" Mal laughed. "Oh, Patience and me go back a ways. She's always tryin' to get one up on me, an' I'm tryin' to get what's due me without her makin' me dead. Kinda our little game. Personally, I think the ol' lady's sweet on me."

He could see Jayne's frown by the moonshine. "Did she shoot you before?"

Mal grimaced. "Man can't remember his own name or why he's bein' chased by the gorram Allicance or nearly bein' killed by Reavers or anything about his own ruttin' life. But let a little ol' lady shoot a fella one time, an' folks just keep bringin' it up over an' over!"

He picked out a fairly level spot next to a slight overhang of the rocks and laid down, arm under his head. "I'm gonna rest up a bit. Wake me if ya see or hear anything, dong ma?

"Affirmative," the answer came back. He'd nearly slipped into a light sleep when he heard the faint musing… "But she did shoot you, didn't she."

* * *

Reviews are oh, so shiny! Thanks!


	10. Chapter 10

Ghosts & Memories Past Chapter 10

Author: Brandywine00

Rating: T, maybe M later?

Disclaimer: Don't own them, don't make any cashy-money off of them. Joss rules!

Thanks to everyone for the continued interest in this tale, and for the shiny comments and questions. Special thanks to jellie_rayneluv for beta, help and constant encouragement!

Jayne has a secret, buried so deep even he doesn't know…

Chapter Ten – Missing

* * * *

Whitefall, fourth moon of Athens…

Zoë stood on the bridge, hands fisted on her hips, every sinew in her body screaming to tear after the wagon carrying her abducted crewmen, lay siege to Patience's place and reduce the compound to a smoking pile of sticks and cinders.

Serenity had flown to her location within minutes of Mal and Jayne being hauled away. But as anxious as they all were to chase down the wagon, it was Simon's cool head that prevailed.

"If we storm in to overtake them, they may simply kill one or both of the hostages," he reasoned, concern twisting his forehead despite the level tone of his voice. "As it stands, they must have plans that require Mal and Jayne alive. At least for a little while."

"Are ya sayin' we don't go after them?" Kaylee's voice broke a little, but she stood firm on the bridge, lightweight body armor peeking out from under her coveralls.

"Ain't sayin' that at all," Zoë cut in before the young woman's steam could get going. A long sigh escaped her. "Simon's right, though. Nobody would bother loading 'em up and hauling 'em away, especially once they had them down. Somebody wanted them dead right away, it'd done been done."

Inara wrapped an arm around Kaylee's shoulders. "We'll get them back, Mei-Mei. We just need a workable plan. What are our options?" The former Companion still seemed out of place without her fine silks and gauzy frippery, but somehow she made even her recently adopted wardrobe of plain canvas cargo pants and button-front cotton shirt seem elegant.

"We fly low. Stay off the scanners. Get close enough to see what's what," Zoë ordered. "Long as it looks like they ain't gonna be killed right off, we wait for nightfall. Me and River sneak in, spring 'em out. Inara, you be waiting with the shuttle, may need you to fly in close to get us all out."

No one spoke the shared thought that with all capable pilots off the ship, there would be no one to get Serenity back in the air if things went bad. It wouldn't matter, she realized, not one of them would leave until all the rest were aboard. _Leave no man behind._

"Maybe they already got loose," Kaylee chirped, though even she didn't look entirely convinced at the possibility. "Any good luck, they'll be holed up somewhere waitin' for us."

"Perhaps, Mei-Mei," Inara soothed, shooting Zoë a frown. The first-mate grimaced, reading the other woman's unspoken message. The words 'Malcolm Reynolds' and 'good luck' weren't phrases generally heard together in the same sentence, lest somebody stuck 'an abysmal lack of' in between the two. Still, never hurt to keep eyes open along the way.

* * *

Zoë's fingers gripped hard into the back of the seat, staring out across the landscape as River maneuvered the ship low across the desert. Still Wash's seat in her mind. In all their minds, and most like always would be, though the young woman handled Serenity with a finesse that would have made Wash proud.

Zoë swallowed down the bittersweet lump in her throat. His absence was an abyss she still fought to navigate, not entirely sure she wanted to climb out of it yet. Anguish sliced through her, familiar, anticipated, half-welcome these days. Unbidden, Zoë's mind reenacted her man's final moments. He had been the big damn hero, saved them all. '_I am a leaf in the wind…' _

He'd pulled off an aerial escape from Reavers and Alliance both, under fire. _'…Watch how I soar_.' Landed the ship under nigh impossible conditions. He had done the job. She had never been prouder of her man. Wash had turned toward her with that sweet, somewhat mystified look. The next instant, he was gone, the heavy spear penetrating his chest, pinning him to the seat, that pleased, mystified look still on his face. Wind had blown away, leaf gone skittering off into some unknown oblivion far from her reach.

_Do the job_. Zoë blinked back the stinging heat in her eyes, focusing again on the blur of scrub and stunted trees flying past. River held the ship mere feet above the surface to keep Serenity off the scanners, both women keeping a keen watch for sentries, pursuers or the two missing crewmen.

"Cortex data on Whitefall's terrain is crude at best," River said into the silence.

"Hmm," the first-mate acknowledged.

"Probability of sentries increased by eighty-three percent within a two mile radius of the stronghold." River's cool, analytical voice drifted over the words, but the slight crinkle between her eyes betrayed the girl's worry. "If they see us… our odds of success will be reduced by–."

"Lousy odds, but still better than those of the Captain and Jayne making it through the night on the old bitch's turf." _That hand may already have been dealt._ "You able to do any of that fancy mind-readin'-genius stuff yet?"

River shook her dark head, still concentrating on the moon's close surface whizzing by. "Only able to read those nearby. But we are approaching a large group of buildings."

Zoë cursed softly. Too many ifs and maybes for her liking, but no help for it now. They'd have to stick to the plan, flimsy as it was. A whole compound full of Patience's folk, who knew how many Feds to boot, no guns mounted on Serenity and only two real fighters among them.

_Leave no man behind._ The alternative was unacceptable. The hole where her husband's memory lived was deep enough, threatened some days to rip her apart from the inside. If that hole had to encompass two more of her family…

Her eyes narrowed as River guided Serenity behind a row of low mountains east of the place. Inara would shuttle the two women quietly into closer range to scope out the lay of the land and then Zoë and the genius-crazy assassin would sneak into the compound at first opportunity. It was pretty obvious that Patience didn't want money. Either she'd been paid off already to capture the men, or she wanted revenge on Mal for their last meeting. Zoë's bet was on the latter. Wouldn't do any good to try to deal like she had with Niska when the vicious crime boss had captured and tortured Mal and Wash.

"_This is suicide."_ The merc's words from that time flew back to her, and she almost laughed thinking he'd say the same gorram thing now. Jayne had grumbled about her and Wash's plan being insane, but in the end he had showed up unasked, armed to the teeth, and co-lead the assault that rescued Mal from certain slow and painful death.

The burly, quarrelsome man hadn't been easy to like right away, or even after a while. But he'd won over her grudging respect. Then surprising appreciation. Then actual friendship. She knew he'd saved her life after Wash died, first by pulling her back from the Reavers and later a dozen or more times on the job when she didn't care, blatantly sought out a bullet or a knife.

_Don't know that I've rightfully thanked you for that, Jayne. But no bad luck, I will. I will._

And Mal…. He'd gotten her through the War. Through the hell that was the Alliance's idea of a post-war 'reeducation camp.' Mal would never leave her here, had their places been switched, no matter how bad the odds against him were. For all his bluster about bad men and outlaws, and even making the hard choices that didn't sit entirely right afterward – _like pushing that man off the mule to make sure we could escape the Reavers on Lilac _– the man was a ruttin' Boy Scout in a 'verse of turncoats and double-crossers. Too damned good a man, too good a friend to let die like this. Patience didn't have the right, Zoë thought viciously, planning to let the old bag know that at the business end of her mare's leg.

"We have to hurry," River said softly. "The mice scurry for cheese, dogs' teeth bared and angry. Cats have no time to play."

"Right," she replied flatly. _Great. Mice and dogs and cats and cheese. Now is not the time for River to get feng li._

The young woman rolled her eyes. "Not crazy. Genius… mostly."

* * *


	11. Chapter 11

Ghosts & Memories Past Chapter 11

Author: Brandywine00

Rating: T, maybe M later?

Disclaimer: Don't own them, don't make any cashy-money off of them. Joss rules!

Thanks to everyone for the continued interest in this tale, and for the shiny comments and questions. Special thanks to jellie_rayneluv for beta, help and constant encouragement!

Jayne has a secret, buried so deep even he doesn't know…

Chapter Eleven – Rescue (ish)

* * * *

Whitefall, fourth moon of Athens…

Zoë watched through the binoc scope, laying flat under a scrap of a scrub tree. It made a sorry accounting of itself for shade, but the twisted heap of twigs gave somewhat of a cover, and it did knock maybe a half-degree off the wicked afternoon heat. A tickle of sweat wound down from her thick hair, itching at her temple, but she fought the sudden maddening urge to swipe it away. Couldn't risk the slight movement yet, as little cover as there was, not until River was safely back.

Through the scope, she watched as a lean, lithe figure blended seamlessly with the scant shadows and slid over the wall. It didn't sit right with her, that she had to let River take the brunt of the risk. She herself oughta be doing that, even though the girl was literally made for this type of mission.

At least during the Reaver battle, she'd been injured. In shock from grief and a blade wound burning down her back. Partly excusable then, letting the teen slip past her to take on the ravenous monsters. But now, Zoë was healed up, on the outside at least. Wasn't so full of herself that she couldn't admit River might be more suited for this particular sortie, especially with that psychic go se she could do. But it still didn't sit right.

Maybe she would have felt more settled about sending the girl in if River hadn't kept prattling on about naughty mice and evil rats and spoiled cheese. Last thing they needed was the girl taking one of her fits inside there. Granted, they were fewer and father between these days, no longer the norm, but a rare reminder that she wouldn't ever be completely right. But now would not be the time.

After what seemed like hours of straining her ears for sounds of alarm, she saw the limber form slipping back toward her, a slight smile indicating success. Silently, they eased back over the rise toward the waiting shuttle.

"An unexpected menu," River's said with a knowing, devilish gleam. "The old bat will eat crow, and the buzzards will be grounded."

"And in addition to communin' with the beasts, did you find out where they were holdin' the boys?" Zoë was too hot, too tired and too damned worried to puzzle over River's jabber.

The younger woman rolled her eyes with a huff, pulling something out of her pants pocket, replacing it in the medikit they'd brought in case the men had been wounded. _Or tortured._

"Small holding cell, far corner of the fortress. Twenty-one men, plus Patience, plus an Alliance officer. Not regulation."

"How so? Blue Hand?" Zoë said the name as neutrally as she could manage. She hated bringing up any reminder of the powerful men who hunted River, sought to take her back to the labs and experiments. It might set the young woman down an unstable path, and they just didn't have the time for that today. "You reckon that other was the 'two'?"

"Wouldn't be here now, if he was," the girl whispered from behind the curtain of her dark hair, fiddling with the clasp on the kit. "Don't use guns. Don't need guns. Not Han– not one of Them. This rat has secrets, though. Some his. Some squirreled away for others. Doesn't know what all of them mean, but he won't let the bat know his secrets. Anyway, she won't care about that, not after the unfriendly cheese."

Didn't have to be eerie enough, River going on about bad rodents and such. No, she just had to throw an eerie, knowing look into the mix. Zoë ran a hand across her damp brow, trying to ignore the grit and dust that ground into her skin.

"Do I wanna even know?" she finally asked as they neared the shuttle.

River just beamed, still walking toward Inara and the waiting shuttle. The companion triggered the hatch as soon as the two were in range. A ray of hope crossing her worried brow when she saw River's satisfied look.

"Did you find them? How soon can we go in?"

"Must wait a little while yet," River told her. "An hour. Any sooner, we tip our hand too early."

* * * * *

Penetrating the compound's outer defenses was eerily simple the second time around. Inara dropped Zoë and River close to the wall, flying the shuttle low and quiet and waiting for their signal to land inside the perimeter once Mal and Jayne had been freed. The warrior women eliminated the two guards on the western wall quickly, made all the easier by the men's apparent bout of stomach troubles.

River just smiled as the wretched hun dans dropped their guns, one letting go the his lunch right there on the wall. Zoë shook her head, River having explained the earlier preoccupation with spoiled cheese for the bad mice.

"How many doses of what medicine you slip in their stew while you were scouting?"

"Several," the girl replied, leaping from the wall to land with uncanny agility. "Evil mice shouldn't have been so greedy. Ate more than their fill, should have paid attention to the smell of the stew."

"Several doses, or several medicines?" Zoë wondered, noticing a handful of Patience's men sprawled around the place in unnatural poses. They'd recover. Eventually. River hadn't spiked the stew with anything permanently lethal for fear Mal and Jayne would be given the same grub as their captors. But any what ate from the community kettle would be hating life for a spell.

"Both," came the reply, River's smirk disturbing Zoë much less than she'd like to admit. Not that every foul chou wang ba dan didn't deserve to die, or at least suffer miserably for their part in all this, she thought.

"Think they all ate the stew?"

River cocked her dark head for a moment before picking out a winding path close to the main house. "All ate some, but some ate less than others. Smart rats, saw their friends go down. Too late, already had some, but those won't be incapacitated as long. Must hurry. Patience never trusts the food, makes her own. Too much fear others will play the same game she did. Will want to make sure her prey is still squirming in the cage."

Sprinting quietly to the makeshift dungeon, they were surprised to find the door cracked open by a skinny piece of rock. Zoë started to ease into the sloping corridor, but River's strong, slender hand grabbed her by the upper arm.

"No one's home," she whispered fearfully. "No one down there. No thoughts."

Sudden fear washed over Zoë. _Too late too late too late_, the words repeated rapid-fire through her mind. Steeling herself against the hollow chill in her gut, she turned back toward the corridor.

"We still gotta know for sure," she told the girl. "Watch the door. We bring 'em back, either way, dong luh ma?"

"Dang ran," River nodded quietly, pressing herself against the door's lintel as the first-mate disappeared into the darkness. Shouts of alarm started rising from the house. River turned to warn Zoë, but the woman had already returned from the hold.

"They're not here," she said, relieved. "Two dead 'uns down there. No weapons. Couple of ropes left layin'."

"We have to go, now," River urged. "Several heading toward us, not adequately incapacitated. Too many guns against us to ensure victory."

Zoë nodded and the two raced full-bore back toward the entry point, charging up the stairway and sliding down the wall. Inara maneuvered the shuttle around to them, slowing down with the hatch open as she neared them. Diving in on the run, they exchanged a few parting shots with the angry faces popping up on the wall before the shuttle dipped back over the hills.

"Where are they?!" Inara was nearly frantic. "They aren't already…"

"Escaped," Zoë smiled, giving the woman's shoulder a squeeze. "Only thing that makes sense, with what we found."

"Wei da de ren ci de pu sa, thanks be." The former companion's head dropped in relief, only momentarily, before she regained her poise.

Zoë gave Inara a quick recap of the mission. "So now, we just have to find them, before Patience does."

"Patience hasn't got a flying vehicle," River chimed in from her perch on Inara's bed. "Must rely on horses and one road mule. Much slower."

Inara sighed in relief. "Well, that's a blessing."

"But the Fed has a craft. Will overtake Mal and Jayne if not re-directed."

Zoë frowned in thought. "They may not know we weren't the ones to spring the men. May think we got 'em with us. Might use that, draw the Fed toward us, give the boys a better head start."

"What if we lead him straight to Mal and Jayne?" Inara worried. "We don't know which way they went, either."

"We know which way they're like to go," Zoë told her. "Back toward town, toward Serenity's last location. If it was me, that's what I'd do, and the captain most like as well. Jayne too, I'd wager. Anything else is a stab in the dark at getting' back. Be wandering around for days, trying to find Serenity on nothing more than a hope and a hunch."

"So we lead any pursuers away from town?" Inara asked, already adjusting course to lure the Fed. "Draw them off, double back later to look for the men?"

"Sounds like a plan," Zoë agreed, still quietly reveling in the discovery of the empty cell. Maybe their luck was changing, after all.

* * *

Author's note: Mal Reynolds' luck changing for the better? What's the 'verse coming to?

Pretty please review? Thanks!

Translations:

chou wang ba dan – lousy bastard

dong luh ma – are we clear/am I clear?

Wei da de ren ci de pu sa – Great merciful Buddha


	12. Chapter 12

Ghosts & Memories Past Chapter 12

Disclaimer: Y'all know the deal by now. Nope, they ain't mine. Nope, ain't makin' coin off 'em. And yup, Joss is still Boss!

Jayne has a secret, buried so deep even he doesn't know…

Chapter Twelve –

* * * *

Whitefall, fourth moon of Athens…

_Almost peaceful, the desert at night… The smell of sage and warm sand comes to him on the wind, the faint moonlight casting a surreal glow to both soften and accentuate the harsh terrain. _

_His senses drink in the night, studying each of the sounds and scents for a threat. For danger. For some trigger of memory. A hint of familiarity tweaks the back corners of his mind. He knows this place, or one very like it, if his physical memories are to be trusted. For the now, they must be. They're all he has to go on._

_He's been here before, on this fourth moon Whitefall, or so Captain Reynolds says. Something vaguely unsettling about that information, about watching another of the three moons rise over the landscape in one direction while the faint, dark outline of a giant celestial body blocks most of the light from a distant sun. "That would be Athens," the captain had mentioned earlier as the lunar world's orbit dipped to the other side of the planet, bringing what passed as nightfall on this rock._

_There's a wrongness to the overall situation that he can't nail down. Maybe it's just a reaction to the lack of solid knowing. Or maybe he's just being paranoid, looking for worry when he had an abundance of it bearing down on his head already. Mother would scold him, tell him not to go borrowing trouble._

_He startles as the image of a woman's smiling face crosses through his mind, bright eyes like a new spring leaf twinkling up at him. He can almost hear the gentle timbre of her voice, see her worn hands working yarn and needles. Turning to ask the captain about that, he pauses. Time for that later, he hopes, but right now, he listens intently to the distance._

Night sounds carry across this hard soil for miles. Some wild, lonesome creature cries out into the darkness, a rising, plaintive sound, answered long moments later from over the low hills. He thinks he can identify the source, but it fades away before he can get a definitive answer. Straining his hearing for a repeat of the keening song, he picks up another sound, one not of any natural ecosystem.

_He wakes the captain, wordlessly signaling to the other man a need for silence. They take cover and await the steady whine of an engine growing closer in the night._

* * *

"Gorramit," Mal muttered the curse almost silently as he checked his sidearm, not happy with the lack of ammo. A wide, bright beam of light blazed out from the airborne craft, raked across the hillsides, methodically illuminating the crevasses.

Mal's heart sank as he recognized the faint green tint to the light, a shade that had caused the end of many a good Browncoat during the war. "Thermal scanner," he whispered low, barely above the range of hearing. "Didn't figure on Patience havin' that."

The large man crouching next to him behind the boulder answered back just as quietly. "Penetrate rock?"

"Depends. In the War, no. Heard the Feds was working on one, read through two feet." Settling his feet under him to launch if needed, he kept his eyes on the open-top craft creeping along the floor of the valley. "May be rumor, may not."

The bright glare revealed a posse of horseback searchers following within the beam's range. As the hovercraft grew closer their position, Mal made out a gnarled, snarling figure standing in the front, barking out directives to the harried riders.

"Good thing she's kinda sweet on you," Jayne noted. "Otherwise I might get worried."

Mal couldn't help the half-grin twitching at his mouth. Jayne getting his snark back, maybe his old self wouldn't be far behind. The grin sharpened to a grimace. Other than the not knowin' who the guay he was, or nothin' about nothin' else, this new and confused Jayne weren't hard to get along with. Mal realized he'd even miss the man… or the personality… or whatever.

"Gettin' closer, gonna have to make a stand or make a run. How are ya for ammo?"

The big man's expression sharpened, eyes narrowing in a look Mal had seen him take on before a fight. "Three rounds, for now. You?"

The captain looked at his gun hand sideways. "Five. Don't see us takin' down twenty men with less than a dozen bullets. Don't care how good ya are."

The grim smile stretching across Jayne's face woulda made him all manner of uneasy if he'd been on the wrong side of it. Hell, made him a touch worried as it were now. "You got a scheme, now may be a good time to share."

"It's risky."

Mal snorted. "So's layin' here waitin' to get shot."

* * *

The low-flying skiff slowed as a greenish cast lit up the nearby hills. The frenetic activity mirrored Zoë's racing thoughts, but the veteran soldier schooled her features to present a calm exterior. They had to lay quiet, let Patience flush the men out, but timing was gonna be crucial. Zoë double-checked her weapons, glanced at River doing the same in the other seat, and steeled herself for the looming battle.

There had been little time to rest up, fuel up, ammo up before trailing the tracking party from Patience's lair. The better part of the afternoon had been spent leading the hovercraft on a merry chase to hell's-half-acre and back, hoping to buy the boys enough time to reach Serenity. But by the time Inara had docked the shuttle, they still had no sign of Mal or Jayne. Which only left one real option, risky as it was.

A wry smile crossed Zoë's face as she and River watched Patience's folk scurry around in the greenish light of the thermal scanners. It was a plan worthy of Mal: let the hunters do the hard work, then swoop in to steal their prize right out from under their noses. Something almost poetical to it, or would be once they pulled it off. Only their two selves, plus Mal and Jayne – and who knew if either of them were in any shape to put up a fight? But at least they'd held out from being found this long, so that weren't nothing.

"Still no signs of our menfolk?" she murmured to the young woman beside her in the mule. River shook her head slightly, her pale features drawn tight in concentration.

"Too many voices," she whispered. "Angry. Scared. Want to find the rabbits, or will end up in the frying pan. Too loud, too rutting loud."

Zoë nodded grimly. Like as not, Patience would shoot down more than one of her own men if they didn't recapture Mal and Jayne, and they apparently knew it. The scanner's green light swept across the hills, casting riders in its eerie glow.

"Getting close," River whispered, her body suddenly alert and arrow-straight.

"Thought you couldn't read them for the noise."

The girl's eyes closed, a determined, almost peaceful look crossing her face. "Found the calm. Control the breath…control the body… control the mind…" Her eyes flew open. "Expect swiftness!"

Zoë thrust the mule to full speed toward the outer edge of the thermal scanner's range.

* * *

Control the breath, control the body, control the mind… He crouches low, unmoving as the stone shielding him. Slowly inhaling, holding, exhaling long and silent. Hooves crunch against the loose rocks, closer. He waits. Just a little closer…

_The searchlight passes across his shelter again, straying well past his hiding spot. Too far away for the mounted thug to see him, until its too late. His muscles sing as he lunges up from the hard ground, gains footing on the boulder, launches himself across the horse's back, arms ensnaring the startled rider so quickly the man can't cry out. _

_He takes his enemy down hard, letting the weight of his body crush the man against the dirt, knocking the breath out of the lungs. The rider's grimy expression races from surprise to shock to fear to permanent dismay as the blade slices through sinew and soft tissue._

_Staying low, he quick-cleans his blade with a swipe against the dead man's pants, and grabs the automatic weapon the other had carried. Looks to hold about thirty rounds. Shoving the still-warm body as far under a protruding boulder as he could manage, he pulls on the other's jacket and wide-brimmed hat, he nabs the reins of the horse – well-trained, to have stood still once his rider was down – and swings into the saddle._

_He wonders for a split-second if he ever learned to ride, before muscle memory takes over and he shifts his balance toward what feels familiar. The dead-man's coat and hat are tight, and smell like some feral animal had curled up and died in them, but they'll do the job. The green searchlight sweeps back over his patch of ground. Keeping his head low, he knees the horse to move slow and easy toward the dead man's partner on the fringe of the search._

* * *

To be continued…


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: Y'all know the deal by now. Nope, they ain't mine. Nope, ain't makin' coin off 'em. And yup, Joss is still Boss!  
Thanks to Jellie_RayneLuv for the beta and help on this project!

What does Jayne have buried so deep even he can't remember… and why does the Alliance want with him?

Recap:

Jayne Cobb can't remember a thing. Serenity's hired gun wakes each day with his mind wiped clear, though a notebook in his own handwriting gives him details of his life onboard. A meet with Patience turns out to be an ambush, but she's teamed up with Alliance operatives. They get Jayne – alive – and she gets Malcolm Reynolds – for her own revenge. Zoe and crew have mounted a rescue, but the men have already escaped. Mal confronts Jayne, who admits he has no clue what's going on, or who he really even is. Before the men can return to Serenity, they must escape the hunting party sent after them, including a thermal scanner to help find them…

Chapter Thirteen – Hunted

* * *

Whitefall, fourth moon of Athens…

As the scuffle-crunch of hooves on debris grew louder and closer his cover, Mal fought the urge to just spend one of his five bullets in the nearest man's brainpan and be done with.

He knew Jayne's scheme had it right; he'd been thinking the same ruttin' thing himself when the hired gun laid it out simple. With just the two of them, and near about two dozen folk answering to Patience, they'd need more than the few weapons and the horses they could take from the first searchers that got close. They needed disguises and a half-decent head-start to get away clean, especially with that begorramed hovercraft in play. Jayne's plan was about as solid as could be managed spur of the moment, nice and simple, but the pack of mounted thugs creeping closer to their hiding spot made Mal's trigger finger a mite twitchy.

"Steady, Sarge, wait for the moment," he told himself, and was rewarded by a blur of action in the vicinity of the farthest of the two goons. The one nearest him didn't notice his partner go down. Didn't notice when a larger silhouette swung back into the saddle and slowly headed his way. So far so good.

Scanner light raked back across the terrain, revealing the second horse approaching, its rider bent over, hat brim pulled low across his face. The first one half-turned in the saddle at the sound of hooves.

"Ya find any more tracks? These just kinda peter out."

"Naw," came the faint response, more of a grunt.

Mal heard the first man's frustrated hiss. "Gotta gorram be round here someplace. Boss Lady ain't gonna be happy, we let 'em get away. Again."

"Mmph," was the answer, drawing the man's attention.

"Y'all right? Sound funny." Mal stiffened, ready to jump early as the man's hand slid into his coat, but he eased back when the hand reappeared with a pocket flask.

"Ain't no wonder, that ruttin' scanner. Cain't be doin' none of us no good," the man muttered, uncapping the container and taking a swig. "Never did trust them things. Ain't right, some e-lectric raygun goin' through ya. Messin' up a man's innards, or who knows what go se."

The man sure likes to hear his own voice, Mal thought as he waited for the thermal scanner's wide beam to cross back over his hiding spot. As the green light ranged out to its limit and started swinging back across the landscape, he let the familiar tension coiled through his muscles, preparing for the strike. A singlemindedness fell over his thoughts.

Been a long time since he'd felt this unwavering determination and rightness down to his boots. Not since the Valley. Not since they'd been abandoned. Ordered to lay down arms. Give up. Take on the shackles of the Alliance. Lay down and take it.

He let the old, cold rage rise through him as the eerie glow edged near. A hundred smuggling jobs and heists hadn't killed the dull anger in him, no matter how many times he'd flashed his ass at the gorram Alliance, no matter how many under'verse crooks and bad guys he'd outdone and lived to tell the tale. He'd thought after telling the 'verse about the Alliance-made horrors of Miranda, some of that hard ache would seep away. Somehow it had only made it worse.

A split second after the scanner passed over, he sprung from his cover, gripping the man's torso as they toppled across the spooked horse. His adversary cried out, a high squeal cut short as Mal's hard blow knocked the wind from his somewhat soft underbelly. Not short enough, though, as shouts from the other riders echoed across the distance.

"Damnation!" Jayne growled, spurring his horse to the fight. "Mal!"

The captain split his attention for a half-second, long enough to grab Jayne's offered knife hilt first. A swift slice later, the second thug lay still on the desert floor.

"Gonna have to break for it!" he yelled, grabbing the man's horse and swinging up into the saddle without bothering with the stirrups. "Got no notion where his gun landed."

They rode for the valley floor as hard as they dared. Riding in the dark was near enough to riding blind, never a choice option, but the fairly level ground would lessen the chance of stumbling. The far end of the valley lay in the direction of town and, Mal hoped, Serenity.

"At least they can't see any better than us," Jayne shouted, sparing a glance behind them. "Damned fly-boat's gonna be a problem, though."

_Gorramit_, Mal cussed. _Damned thing's just gonna track us down no matter how hard we push._

As if Fate heard his thoughts, the whine of the craft's drive closed in on them fast. The edges of that ruttin' green light nipped at their ponies' heels and Mal could make out the angry shouts of an old spiteful woman. He wished he could dare push the horse to more than an easy lope, but getting tossed to the ground now would be his end.

"Split-up!" he yelled to Jayne, veering the animal quickly to the left. Patience would just have to choose between getting even and getting along, and with any luck she and her new Fed friend would have differing notions as to which was more important.

Apparently, they did. A loud squawking commenced, followed by the sound of the craft angling off toward Jayne, who'd ridden toward the far right side. Reining the horse back toward them, Mal pulled his gun and started a wide arc behind the craft and the direction he thought Jayne was. He hoped he had enough distance between himself and the craft when the gun hand started shooting so as to not get taken out by friendly fire.

The scanner found Jayne quick enough, riding hell-bent for leather now that the beam cast enough light to see by, but the steed was no match for the engine's speed. With their quarry in sights, the Fed hauled out a large rifle and yelled for Patience to speed up. Mal fired off a round at the craft, but they were already too far out of range and pulling away fast.

Jayne had slowed up a bit to take aim over his left arm, but the terrain was too choppy to let him do more than fire in the general direction of the craft and hope to get lucky. Mal grimaced. Gorramed luck, again.

The hovercraft was closing in on his crewman, and Mal knew from painful experience that the ruttin' light from that thermal scanner was shining directly into Jayne's eyes, making it damned near impossible to see what the guay he was aiming at. He thought he saw Jayne make a break for it, his horse taking off across the valley like Reavers were on its tail, but it wouldn't take long to track him down again.

"Cao!" Mal cussed as the vehicle banked and shot after the retreating hoofbeats. Kicking his own horse into a run, he lunged ahead on a wing and a… well, not a prayer, but a healthy dose of hope… and was surprised when he damn near ran overtop an on-foot Jayne Cobb.

"Bwaahh!" he shouted at the startle, but Jayne sidestepped the thousand-pound animal to reach Mal's side.

"Two feet my muscular buttocks!" he fairly crowed, jabbing the rifle toward the retreating craft. "Slid right behind a rock and they never picked up on me."

"Shiny," Mal countered, ducking low on the horse's back, though he didn't know what good that would do. "So we hide again 'til they find us again, and take out another two? Gonna be here a while, if we plan to just whittle 'em down?"

Damned if he couldn't see the man's pearly white smile in the dark. "Got a better plan. I hide, you draw them back past me, I take 'em out with a couple of broadside shots."

Mal cringed. "So I'm bait."

"You got better?"

"No," he sighed, "just rememberin' it was you what they wanted still breathin'. Me? Not so much, I figure. Gotta be fairly quick, them riders ain't close, but they will be before long."

"Yes, sir!" In a moment, the night had swallowed him up again. Jayne stuck his hand up a moment, to let Mal make out where he was hiding, where to bring them back to.

"Don't miss, Cobb," he snipped, rounding back toward the now slowed hovercraft.

"Don't aim to," came the invisible reply.

Catching the vehicle from behind, Mal picked up the pace and fired a precious round toward the Fed in the front seat. Hauling away from them, he raced back toward Jayne's hiding spot, hoping the angle of entry wouldn't leave the man exposed to the thermal scanner and give him away.

As the craft flew by Jayne's rock, Mal heard the stutter of automatic weaponry, followed by a flurry of curses. He spared a glance over his shoulder to see the Fed slump into a now beyond-irate Patience, and spun the horse around the help clean up.

The bullet nearly took off his left ear, and he was pretty sure it singed his hair on the way past. Mal ducked low in the saddle. Patience didn't care about Jayne ruttin' Cobb, or any hundan Fed. She wanted Malcolm Reynolds' head on a plate. Judging from the closeness of the second round that whizzed by, she didn't care if it was in one piece or not.

A third shot fired toward him, and for a brief, heartstopping moment he thought he was hit. Flying through the air, he landed hard against the packed, dry soil and dismissed the notion that he was just in unfeeling shock from the bullet. No, he was feelin' pretty much every muscle and nerve in his body, and his gorramed lungs burned in want of the air knocked out of them. Not to mention the bells ringing between his ears. He wasn't sure if he'd hit a rock, or if the ground was just that hard.

"Shot yer own ruttin' horse," he wheezed, promising to spare a later moment of pity for the fine creature that had got him this far, now laying in a tangled heap a dozen feet from him. Raising his gun, he hoped he had at least one bullet left, but right now he couldn't recall just how many of the five he'd actually fired.

He could hear the repeat of Jayne's weapon from a slight distance, but Patience was closer, slowing the hovercraft as it approached him and the dead horse.

"Ain't lettin' you by with nothin' this time, Reynolds," she yelled, clear and matter-of-factly.

_Well, she does kinda have the upper hand this time, so I guess she's got call to be cocky, _he snarked. _Damn. Those are some piss-poor last words, if I do say so._

"Got you dead to rights, boy. Told ya, ol' Patience would get hers, an' I meant it." The clacking sound of a rifle being reloaded ripped through the fog surrounding him.

_When the hell did the fog roll in?_ he mused.

"Can't say it's been a pleasure knowin' ya. But it sure has been… interestin'," the old woman laughed coldly as she stood in the hovercraft and raised the barrel at his head.

* * *

To be continued… sooner, I hope. Sorry for the delay. Reviews are greatly appreciated. Thanks!


	14. Chapter 14

Ghosts & Memories Past ~ Chapter 14

Disclaimer: Y'all know the deal by now. Nope, they ain't mine. Nope, ain't makin' coin off 'em. And yup, Joss is still Boss!

Thanks to Jellie_RayneLuv for the beta and help on this project!

_Recap of our story so far:_

_Each time Jayne Cobb wakes, the details of his life have been wiped clear. Only a notebook in his own handwriting gives him details of his life onboard._

_A meet with Patience is an ambush by her men and Alliance operatives. Feds want Jayne alive –she wants Malcolm Reynolds for revenge. Zoe and crew mount a rescue, but the men had escaped into the wild hills, thanks to River's sabotage while earlier scouting. Mal confronts Jayne on his odd behavior, Jayne admits his dilemma._

_When the hunting party gets close, including a hovercraft-mounted thermal scanner, Mal and Jayne make a break for it. Mal lures the pursuers so Jayne can take out the Fed in the hovercraft._

_Now Patience has Mal in the crosshairs after shooting the horse out from under him…._

Chapter Fourteen –

* * * *

Whitefall, fourth moon of Athens…

_He wills his body to reach maximum speed, racing across the valley floor toward the hovercraft. Demanding his legs pump harder, faster, faster than a speeding bullet._

_It's not fast enough._

_A sharp crack rips through the air, louder than the engine's whine and the retreating hoof beats of Mal's horse and the pounding in his ears as he reaches deep within himself for just a little more velocity. The single shot echoes off the surrounding hills, followed by another and a third._

_A shrill cry pierces the night, the inhuman shriek falling off to silence._

_Ahead, the hovercraft slows, the beam of tainted light honing in on a crumpled form. Against hope, the form moves, struggles to rise as the cold figure in the flying machine stands, takes aim._

_He won't make it in time, but the weapon in his hands should have enough range to take the shooter down. At least divert her attention. Shouldering the rifle, he aims and begins to squeeze the trigger when the sharp report of gunfire splits the silence. Brows furrowed, he scans the darkness for its source._

_A new whine rises from the darkness, whooshing past him so closely the hyper-heated air from the craft's engine washes over his skin. Another retort of gunfire cracks across the night, closer to its target, not taking down the homicidal harpy, but forcing her to duck back into the craft and steer it wildly away from the downed captain._

~*~

The new craft slowed to a halt next to Mal, hovering steadily close to the ground as a tall, shadowed figure leaned over the side. In the near darkness, Jayne couldn't make out features or clothing, but the silhouette possessed the definitive curves and grace of a female.

The captain grasped her outstretched hand, clambering aboard to join her and another shadowy figure in the vehicle, turning to point in his direction. He resisted the urge to duck as the craft flew straight toward him.

"Goin' our way?" Mal quipped as he leant a hand to pull Jayne into the back of the mule. The two women gave him a brief nod before the smaller one launched the vehicle away from the searching party.

Behind them, the whine of Patience's hovercraft grew out of the dark. She hadn't gone far, just far enough to pick up the nearest of her men as backup shooters. No way in nine levels of hell she was gonna let Malcolm Reynolds just waltz out of her clutches with nary a fight.

"They're comin' around," Zoë's clear strong voice called through the darkness. "Spare ammo in the rear hatches, sir."

Mal and Jayne dug into the compartments to reload their weapons as the smaller woman threaded the mule through the darkened hills. Zoë passed a small torchlight back to them, but otherwise they were working primarily by touch.

At the realization that the vehicle had no lamps to light the way ahead, Jayne's stomach clenched. The skiff was careening across the landscape at an alarming clip, though if they had come close to hitting any obstacles obscured by the dark, he couldn't tell.

He opened his mouth to suggest slowing down, since speed plus solid, unmovable objects like mountainsides plus human physiology didn't ever equal up to a good time.

"Need more than eyes to navigate the perilous road ahead, traveler," the pilot's voice drifted back, somber and calm and just a bit cryptic, he thought. The notion weaved through his mind that she wasn't simply referring to the current mad-dash escape.

A bullet ricocheted mere inches from his hip, pulling his focus back to the harridan chasing them. The slender pilot had amazing evasion skills, that much was evident. But the four-man mule just wasn't made for the kind of breakneck speeds that the old woman's hovercraft could reach. The craft was gaining on them, two new shooters riding shotgun with Patience and taking aim.

"River, this bucket got any more speed?" Mal yelled over the wind whipping past them, firing back toward Patience's crew.

"She's got 'er full out, Mal," Zoe answered, aiming between the two men to return fire. "We ain't gonna make Serenity before they catch us. Best make a stand. Hole up, pick 'em off as we can."

"That gorram thermal scan, can't help but find us, no matter little River's fancy blind-flyin'," Mal groused. "Jayne, you ain't lost your aim too, have ya?"

"Seems to be intact," Jayne answered, drawing a bead on the green glow mounted on the pursuing craft. "If we can hold steady long enough."

"Riv? Do what ya can, darlin'. Jayne, how's about seein' if ya can't even up the odds a bit?"

River maneuvered the craft out of the seemingly erratic zig-zag pattern she'd been using to avoid the bullet fire, straightening the path and lifting the mule to a slightly higher altitude to avoid the sporadic scrub trees.

Jayne lined up the sights and slowly squeezed the trigger, rewarded by the metallic ping of bullet hitting the outer metal casing of the lightbox. Ignoring Mal's swearing, he calmly sighted again and fired.

The night swallowed up the hovercraft as the round knocked out the putrid green light.

"That oughta level the field a bit," Mal crowed, ducking down into the mule now that neither the crew nor Patience could see each other well enough for a decent shot. "River-girl, get us the hell outta here!"

The four hunkered low to avoid stray blind shots as River resumed a non-linear course back toward Serenity.

~*~

The mule sped through the valley's opening, back toward the broken-down cluster of buildings where the whole crap-ass day had started. Just beyond the edge of town, Jayne watched a sliver of light grow into a rectangle, brightness from within spilling out like a runway for the skiff to follow.

"Zoe, you and Jayne get the mule stowed, double-time. River, high-tail it to the bridge, get us in the air. Kaylee!" he called over the handheld transmitter that Zoe handed him. "Do you read me?"

"Captain! Is that really you, Cap'n?" The excited voice squealed through the two-way's speaker. "I just _knew_ ya'd be all right! I told 'Nara that Zoe and River'd get ya back – "

"No time for chatter, Kaylee-girl, I need you to fire up Serenity, ma shong! Prep for hard burn as soon as we break atmo."

"Right away, Cap'n!" The mechanic's voice took on the breathy quality of someone running hard, but her exuberance was undimmed. "Is Jayne with ya, too? You're both okay, right?"

"Right as can be, little one," Mal assured her as River landed the mule in Serenity's cargo bay and leapt up the stairs to begin the launch sequence.

Zoe jumped from the skiff, quickly closing the ramp and keying the control to bring the mule's securing chains from the ceiling as the ship's engines rumbled to life.

"Jayne, give Zoe a hand with the mule, then the both of you come straight up to the mess, dong ma?"

Jayne climbed out of the skiff, shooting Mal a questioning look as the captain ascended toward the upper level.

"Oh – _go se_ – up the stairs, turn left," Mal spoke low, reading the crewman's concern.

Jayne nodded with a look of gratitude, glad the man understood his question without making him come out and ask where the hell the mess hall was. Frankly, he was a more than a little surprised Mal hadn't debriefed Zoe and River on the matter, but was glad he was apparently going to wait until the ship was in the clear. While Jayne knew they were his crew, and they had saved his and the captain's lives, while Mal may trust them, Jayne was still a bit leery of letting any of the others know his problem.

He wasn't sure how he was going to explain his memory loss to the rest of the crew when the situation had him boggled as well. Had the tranquilizer he'd been shot with caused this reaction? He had hopes that the condition was only temporary, that the ignorance of his own existence was just a passing side-effect and he'd be back to normal in a few hours. Or days, at most.

Somewhere in the core of him, a cold hand of doubt clutched his chest. Somehow, he knew the answer wasn't so simple. Nor would be the fix.

And while his initial gut reaction to the two women spoke of familiarity and trust, and the bubbly voice on the two-way radio had subconsciously lifted his attitude a bit, he still was a cautious man by nature. At least he knew that much.

Turning to Zoe, he was momentarily stunned by the undefined warmth that spread through him as he watched the warrior woman. Her eyes were focused on her dark, slender hands as they methodically fastened the first chain to secure the skiff.

"You ain't been gone so long as to forget what I look like," she stated plainly, not turning her head to look at him. "You gonna stand there starin', or you gonna get to work so we can get off this gorram rock?"

"Yes," he jumped, copying her actions with a second chain, feeling a flush of embarrassment flood his cheeks to be wool-gathering when haste was needed. "To the latter," he mumbled at her questioning glance, not quite sure how to categorize his reaction.

She rounded the front of the vehicle and had started on the second chain before she brought her cool gaze to rest on him.

"'To the latter', you say?"

"Beg pardon?" His hands stilled only momentarily as he glanced up at her. A dark brow arched as she leveled him with a penetrating stare.

"Reckon you and the captain have an interesting tale to tell, once we get into the Black," she said after several long seconds.

"Hmm," he hedged, realizing something was off.

He'd given himself away somehow. But exactly what she'd honed in on, he couldn't name just yet. He'd have to learn her better. Have to learn himself better, to know what was expected of him.

They finished the job and Zoe raised the mule to storage high above the cargo bay.

"Mule's locked, Mal," she called through the ship's intercom unit. "Jayne and I are on our way.

"Good; see ya in a minute, Zo'," the staticky voice acknowledged.

The cargo bay's floor pushed up against his feet, and he felt his muscles automatically shift to compensate for a slight tilt in the ship's attitude. Following Zoe up the stairs, he could nearly see the questions rolling off her, but she kept her thoughts to herself. He got the feeling she usually did, and hoped that feeling meant he was getting close to remembering what should be familiar.

~*~

"Well, we got a couple problems at hand," Mal stated, glancing at each of the six people seated around the wooden table. "Some pretty big, and some… well, too soon to say, but we'll get them sorted out as we can."

Keeping his eyes on Mal, Jayne let his peripheral vision catch glimpses of the others. Some were sipping at the "engine brew" moonshine the mechanic had produced, except the unusually beautiful woman dressed in flowing silks seated across the table. Their attention was focused on the captain, but Jayne felt as if the weight of unspoken questions sat on his chest.

Zoe kept shooting indiscernible glances his way, trying hard not to be noticeable. He could have called her on it, challenged her with his own stare, but let it slide. Everything would come out soon enough anyway, and he wanted no bad blood between him and the Amazonian first mate.

The waif-like pilot, River, was more bold. Head cocked to the side, she stared at him with wide, knowing brown eyes. Rather than accusatory, her regard held a tinge of… was that pity? Unnerved by the real or imagined perception she had of him, Jayne lifted the tin cup to his lips, nursing a sip of the liquor, and focused on Mal again as the captain gave the run-down of the day's events. He hadn't yet brought up Jayne's problem.

"No offense, but why would Patience take you two as hostages and not just kill you both outright?" The dark-haired young man down the table raised the question, earning a shocked glare from the fresh-faced girl curled up under his arm. "I mean… no! I didn't mean that I wished… it's just… given the captain's history with her…"

"Simon, that's just mean!" The girl tagged the fellow with a not-so-gentle punch in the arm. "We're glad you're both okay and not shot up by Patience. Ain't we, Inara?"

The silk-clad lady's plush red lips parted as if to speak, but Simon cut in.

"Kaylee, I wasn't suggesting…" Simon floundered, shaking his head and holding his hands out to her. She was having none of it, however, crossing her arms akimbo, sitting upright and leaning closer to River. Simon let out a frustrated sigh.

"Doc's got a point, though, li'l Kaylee," Mal nodded. "Weren't our usual 'perfectly planned job gone crabbed' scenario. Ambush was planned out proper, aided and abetted by our friendly neighborhood Feds."

"Or more likely, planned by the Feds, utilizing Patience to draw us into the deal," Jayne put in, his first comments since taking a seat. "From the looks of her operation and the caliber of men she hired, I'd be surprised if she were the brains behind the operation."

Every pair of eyes in the room locked on to him, and he immediately wished he'd kept his damned mouth shut.

Zoe's brows lowered in a deep Vee, her lips pressed into a firm line as her eyes darted between him and Mal. Kaylee and Inara looked at him blankly. Simon's slack jaw and raised brows suggested Jayne had suddenly grown a second head. Only River seemed unfazed, a sad half-smile on her pale face.

A queasy feeling wormed its way around his gut. This was more than just not knowing, not mere memory loss, he was sure of it. Something he'd done or said was off kilter. And every person in the room had picked up on it at once.

Jayne sighed in resignation, tossing back the tin mug of moonshine in one swallow, feeling the heat wash its way down to his belly. Better to get things out in the open now, and hope to figure out what the problem was, and more importantly, the solution.

"Guess now's as good a time to bring up the other issue," Mal drawled as he raked a hand through his hair. "Simon, gonna need ya to have a look at our Jayne here shortly. Guess y'all noticed, seems he's got himself a peculiar type situation."

~*~


	15. Chapter 15

Ghosts & Memories Past ~ Chapter 15

Disclaimer: Y'all know the deal by now. Nope, they ain't mine. Nope, ain't makin' coin off 'em. And yup, Joss is still Boss!

Thanks to Jellie_RayneLuv for the beta and help on this project!

_Recap of our story so far:_

_Each time Jayne Cobb wakes, the details of his life have been wiped clear. Only a notebook in his own handwriting gives him details of his life onboard._

_A meet with Patience is an ambush by her men and Alliance operatives. Feds want Jayne alive –she wants Malcolm Reynolds for revenge. Mal notices and confronts Jayne on his odd behavior, Jayne admits his dilemma._

_Zoe and River rescue the men and Serenity returns to the Black._

_During Mal's debriefing, the crew notices something's just not right about their resident gunslinger…_

Chapter Fifteen – Confession & Revelation

Serenity ~ In the Black

_Silence shrouds the room the moment the words are out of his mouth. _

_Heat flushes up his neck, and the hairs on the back of his neck prickle up as every eye in the room stares into him. He's said something wrong, and every one of them knows it. He wishes to hell he knew what exactly it was._

_The Amazon's lips are pressed into a firm straight line, her brow creasing. She's trying to be subtle, easing her long dark fingers toward her sidearm without making a production of it. Her deep brown eyes remain neutral, but never leave him for a second. She's not even blinking. He knows innately that's a really bad sign. _

_If her posture had been military issue before, it's even more ramrod straight now. She's ready for battle. He hopes he doesn't have to go up against her. He could take her down, despite her very obvious abilities. But he doesn't want to. _

_This warrior woman has somehow earned his respect, though he can't remember the hows or whys. He only knows he cares for her. Would put his life between her and harm without a doubt. She doesn't seem to know that at the moment, though. Her chin tips up just a bit, jaw tightening, a classic hard-assed stance of confrontation._

"_Guess now's as good a time to bring up the other issue. Simon, gonna need ya to have a look at our Jayne here shortly. Guess y'all noticed, seems he's got himself a peculiar type situation."_

_As grateful as he is for the Captain breaking the silence, the impending questions – and his lack of answers – press into his chest like a tank. Not everyone at the table looks ready to wait for answers._

_The young doctor has snapped shut his gaping jaw, the stunned expression shifting toward wariness and a growing distrust._

"_Certainly, Captain." The boy tries to hold eye contact, but a worried blue gaze keeps flickering toward the wraith-like girl who piloted the skiff. The doc barely glances at her before yanking his gaze back down the table. _

"_I can run a full battery, unless there's a specific ailment you'd like to address?" The words are cool. Completely professional. About a hundred burning questions and fears slip around behind the young man's façade of nonchalance, needing answers and dreading them._

_There's some kind of history with this one. A nagging feeling tells him it's not always been a pleasant one. He doesn't like the advantage that knowledge gives the younger man over him, especially since Mal seems determined to submit him to the doctor's testing. Not that he's got a better idea of figuring this mess out than the captain's._

"_While you're on my table, under my care, no harm will come to you, not even a hair." He startles at the same time as the doctor, both of them jerking their attentions to the dark-haired pilot. "Simon says," she adds faintly, her sing-song voice nearly raucous against the room's silence._

_The girl's still got that pitying face on. He wants to just ask her outright what she knows, because it's clear she knows something. A lot of somethings. But not now, and certainly not here, with everyone in the room still staring at him as if he'd sprouted wings. Or horns, more fittingly, if their reactions are any indication._

"_The little men hurled their stones and laughed," she intones, nodding sagely as if sharing the secrets of the universe. "Sleeping through the thunder, he wakes too late, but just in time."_

_For a brief second, the somber attention of the room lifts from him, turning toward the girl as they all try to unravel her words. _

_She's got her own secrets, this girl with her ominous, knowing stare that peeks out at him from behind a curtain of tousled hair. There's a frailty about her, but a closer look reveals the iron below the surface. Most that would go up against her would be fooled by her delicate features and dainty frame, but he can see beyond that.  
_

"_Didn't break the glass in case of emergency," she adds, as if that explains everything. "Took the bullets from the gun, but the gun was hidden and they forgot."_

"_River, let's talk about this later, all right mei-mei?" Simon places a soothing hand on her shoulder. "Right now, we're trying to help Jayne –"_

"_Has to find its own bullets now," she says firmly, gripping the doctor's wrist with strong fingers, and giving it sharp shake to accent her point. "Retrofitted. Had to accept the new rounds, but still needs its original ammunition."_

_Slender as her limbs may be, they're covered by a respectable amount of well-defined, wiry muscle. Others may think she's curled up on her chair in a defensive posture. Might disregard the sinuous way she moves, how she's balanced just right on the seat to launch herself rapidly at an adversary with her toes curled around the edge for added momentum._

_Her thin fingers pluck absently at the hem of her lacy shirt – dress – whatever it could be termed, while she regards him in that mystifying manner. Why does she feel sorry for him? And why does no one else seem to share her sentiment?_

_The most sympathetic person in the room seems to be the happy little mechanic gal, but even she's staring, then looking around trying to gauge everyone else's reaction. Her confusion is evident, yet she seems to be holding off on the snap judgment of him until things can be unraveled._

"_I'm sure Simon'll get ya all sorted out, Jayne," she says, sounding like she's trying to convince herself. "Be right as rain in no time. Right, Simon?" _

_He wishes he had her confidence in the resolution of things, and quirks the side of his mouth up a little for a half-second in an almost-smile, trying his best not to be intimidating. Because under her confusion lies a healthy hint of fear, and he doesn't want her to be afraid. Not of him. Never of him._

"_Mei-mei, I'm sure Simon will do everything in his power to remedy Jayne's… predicament." The silk-clad lady regards him neutrally. Some kind of training to manage that, he thinks. Not a trace of her true thoughts are revealed behind those khol-lined eyes, though she'd been as stunned as the rest of the crew in that initial moment._

_Cool and refined, she gracefully pours herself another steaming cup of tea. Each movement of the act draws his eye, her motions as seamless and poised as he can imagine a human could be capable of managing. He feels a bit of the tension ease, until he catches himself watching the movements of her hands and feeling that ease and wondering how the hell her pouring a simple cup of tea can change his perspective._

_It's almost like she's purposefully trying to calm him and the others. Her composure makes him want to focus more on her than on the remaining crew members around the table. He's not entirely comfortable with that notion, and forces his attention back to the captain._

_The captain is frowning again, hackles up for some reason and staring back and forth between him and the lady. Mal is definitely displeased at the tea thing, and any fool knows an unhappy captain makes for all manner of unpleasantness._

Mal cleared his throat, still scowling a bit in his direction.

Shooting a quick glance between the captain and the lady, Jayne figured the two of them had something going between them. He settled his attentions firmly on the battered tin cup in his hands, waiting for the fallout.

"Seems Jayne's havin' trouble remembering some things," Mal stated without sarcasm. "All kinds of things, truth be told. Doc, want you to run a check on whatever kinda go se they used to tranq him. See if that would cause his not-knowin'."

"What kinda stuff are ya forgettin', Jayne?" Kaylee's concern for him overshadowed her obvious confusion about whatever was out of place.

Jayne sighed, shooting a glance over to Mal, then straightened uncomfortably in his seat. As little as he knew about his life, he knew for certain that giving anyone an advantage over him was not in his nature. A worm of doubt squirmed around in his gut as he considered how the hell to answer the girl's question.

"Well, some details…"

Mal coughed into his hand.

"Most… details are… fuzzy?" He hedged, eyeing each of them warily. Meeting the pilot's gaze, he read an encouragement there that surprised him. _What the hell does she know about all this?_

"Among friends and family here, man-they-call-Jayne," she said softly. "None will take advantage of the knowing."

Heaving a deep sigh, he leaned his forearms against the table. His fingers found the tin cup oddly interesting, absently turning the thing over and around as he focused on the worn polished wood just in front of his hands.

"If the captain hadn't told me," he began slowly, "I wouldn't be able to tell you my own name right now."

Kaylee's hand flew to cover her mouth, her surprise echoed by Inara's soft gasp. The lady quickly regained her composure, her elegant hands clasped in her silk lap. Down the table, the doctor's suspicions were replaced with what Jayne figured was a rapid medical assessment forming in the young man's mind.

_Perhaps there's help from that quarter after all_, he thought with growing hope, despite the obvious difficult history that he could feel between the two of them.

_She_ wasn't convinced of anything by his confession. Sitting back in her seat, Zoe crossed her arms over her chest, her brow smooth now, but no signs of mercy in her stern, dark eyes.

_Hard-assed soldier_, he thought with growing measure of respect. She'd hold his feet to the fire, but once friendship was earned, he knew he'd never doubt this woman. It was just the winning her over he had to worry about at the moment. _And not getting shot. Definitely trying not to get shot_, he added.

"Doc, you got any notion what drug mighta caused this?" Mal asked. "Man woke up from that dart, didn't know _go se_ from shinola. Not his name; not who I was; not a clue how we ended tied up in Patience's gorram dungeon. Reckon you could help him sort that out?"

Simon tugged his ear absently, thoughts racing across his face as he studied the problem. "There are a few drugs that would cause that kind of amnesia. It's rather unusual for the Alliance to employ them, though. Generally, they're reserved for subjects of… political or… military… importance."

The growing ease Jayne felt emanating from the younger man began to fade as the doctor hesitated on the last words. He could see Simon's paranoia flare again, and even Mal had blanched a bit at the implications that Jayne may hold some status with this Alliance they kept going on about.

"All manner of use Alliance could put a man to, if they stole away his memory." Zoe spoke softly, but no one at the table seemed to read her tone as anything but a warning. To him.

She still hadn't budged a muscle, but those piercing eyes bore into him, scanning across his face as if to read him. To judge him. A sudden burning need to be found worthy spiraled up from his gut. She'd seen hardship and heartache, it was written all over her defensive posture even if Mal hadn't mentioned the pilot husband she'd lost.

"Can't say what use they'd find of me, or even if it was this Alliance group you all keep mentioning," he said calmly, meeting the gaze of each of them, but lingering on the warrior woman long enough to let her know he didn't knowingly have anything to hide from her. "I don't know about any Alliance or Fed. To be honest, I can't say I'm not affiliated with them somehow. But to be fair, I don't know that I am, either."

"You end up bein' Alliance, we're gonna have us an issue between us, Jayne." Mal's voice held steady, but the iron-clad threat behind the pleasant words left no room for misunderstanding. "You turn out to be a Fed, bring harm to me and mine, we're gonna reach that 'interesting day' we talked about long time back. Dong ma?"

Jayne nodded, though his brows raised a bit at the last part. "I don't have any desire to hurt anyone here, Mal. Given the fact you all are being so understanding of my predicament, I've got only the best of will toward you."

"See to it that's how it stays," the captain replied, nodding to Simon. "Reckon the two of ya got a heap work to get to. Kaylee, need you to make sure Serenity's ready to run if we need her to go hard burn. Zo', River, need to talk to ya 'bout that upcomin' job."

Turning to the lady, he tipped his head. "Don't know what your schedule looks like, Ambassador, but wouldn't mind havin' ya sit in for… cultural input on the location."

"Of course, Mal," Inara replied, a serene smile playing across her lips. "You know I'm always eager to lend my expertise to any prospective venture."

"Well folk," Mal clapped his hands together, "we all go things need doing, best be about it now."

Mal tried to seem disinterested as Jayne glanced over his shoulder. The gunhand's unreadable gaze swept the remaining crew in the mess hall, but lingered longest on Zoe with a look Mal wasn't sure what to make of. As indecipherable as before, the big man turned to follow Simon to the medbay.

Mal exhaled wearily as he reached his cup out to Zoe for a refill of Kaylee's engine brew. Sitting back in his chair at the head of the long wooden table, he took a swig and let himself relax for the first time since they'd left Serenity at dawn.

"Reckon y'all noticed Jayne's problem goes a mite deeper than just forgetfulness."

Zoe eased her forearms onto the table. "A man forgettin' his name ain't too much to believe, given what they coulda shot him with," she said evenly. "Wakin' up and not even talkin' like himself? Not actin' like Jayne a'tall? That ain't from any tranq dart I heard of. Ain't somethin' likely could be done to a man in a day, and you two weren't gone but the day."

"Agreed. Somethin' more than amnesia plaguing our merc. Downright unsettlin', specially the first time he starts in with all that proper talk. Ruttin' near chilled the blood, I first heard it."

"You think he's a Fed?" Zoe asked. "Sent to infiltrate and… and…"

Mal let out a short bark of laughter. "'And' is the hang up here. And what? Infiltrate a bitty little transport like Serenity, scratch around the Black for jobs, study and learn what makes a low-level non-commissioned Browncoat tick? Years after the war's done? Ain't no rhyme or reason for it. Feds wanted us, they've had plenty of shots to take us. Much as it galls me to say it."

"Perhaps…" Inara chimed in, then stopped. "No, Jayne was with you and Serenity long before River and Simon came aboard, and not even River knew then that we'd be the ones to uncover Miranda's secrets. So, no… I'm sorry, no ideas."

River squirmed a bit at the mention of the dead planet, but the past stayed firmly in the past for her. The memories she'd gleaned from Parliament members during her tortured days at the Academy didn't own the girl anymore, a fact that allowed Mal to sleep at night.

"What about our resident mind-readin' genius?" Mal asked. All attention turned to River. "Seems you had summat interestin' to say while ago in regards to little men and ammunition. Care to expound on that?"

The pilot cocked her head to one side. "I told you," she said, growing agitated. "Old bullets still fit, but the weapon doesn't know that. Refitted to the rounds that were available. Must find his bullets. Can't ever just use the old ones now, new and old mixed up the same box."

Mal tried very hard to keep the frown from his brow. Over the past months, River had made such progress toward… well, he didn't know what he could say was normal for a teenage genius-psychic-assassin, but she seemed a whole lot less unstable.

Girl had her lucid days. So many of them now that it was hard to tell how much of her odd speech was from lingering madness, and how much came from her inability to put her thoughts into plain talk him and Zoe could cipher out.

"River, honey, you gotta remember: Captain and me are just regular folk. We need things spelled out sometimes –"

Quick as a flash, the girl jumped up with a huff, darting past them toward the bridge.

"River! We're trying, mei-mei, we really are," Inara called after her as the girl stopped in the corridor.

"I know," she said, turning to face them, her face a study in conflict. "Conundrum presents itself. She is unsure of the proper… can't quantify… unable to… there's loyalties and secrets and trusts and boundaries and she can't determine the trajectory."

Biting her lip, she stood halfway up the hall, between Kaylee and Jayne's bunk hatches.

"She doesn't – I don't – know what to do," she said in a small voice, arms crossed like a shield across her thin body. Her fingers fretted with the fabric of her sleeves as Mal cautiously approached her.

"Albatross? Darlin', we're just tryin' to understand. Ain't upset with ya, dong ma?"

"The telling isn't hers – it's not mine. Moonbrain ain't got no right pryin' inta a man's mind, feng luh girl!" River's voice dropped an octave as she took on the more familiar tone of the ship's mercenary. "Didn't mean to intrude, she didn't. Nocturnal images difficult to filter when so potent."

"River, hon, are you sayin' you been pickin' up on Jayne's dreams?" Zoe asked, her surprise mirroring both Mal's and Inara's expressions.

"Dreams of days not ours and cold, white nothings and dark fears of the emptiness," the girl confessed guiltily, dropping her head to hide behind a curtain of dark hair. "Didn't mean to overhear, promised not to laugh. Not to 'rat a man out over what he cain't help an' don't rightly understand hisownself.'"

Meeting Mal's dumbfounded look, she placed her palms lightly on his chest.

"Doesn't know why or what, but all purpose is to guard," she said in pleading tones. "All intent is to protect. Guardian angel. She promised – _I_ promised to help."

"What did Jayne ask you to do?" Mal challenged. What right did that man have, asking a broken little girl to cover for him?

River shook her head frantically. "No!" she shouted vehemently. "Didn't ask for her help! Didn't want it! She offered, gave assistance anyway! The way is winding and covered in bracken! The paladin couldn't get to the castle without her! Couldn't guard the king, the knight, the queen… has to, must keep them safe, must keep all of them safe!"

"Sir, think maybe Simon ought to be here…?"

"No." Mal's brows rose in surprise at Inara's calm but firm statement.

"No? You don't think this is gettin' a bit outta hand? And might I remind everyone I am the captain?"

Inara rolled her eyes. "Yes, Mal, you are, and no one here is questioning that. But River's not completely being illogical."

"What part of the castle and bracken relates to our gunhand's not-knowin'? Cause I seem to've missed that part."

"Medieval feudal system. Serenity is the castle. You're the king, Zoe obviously the knight. Jayne is the paladin, whose path is obstructed. Sworn to protect the keep, but difficulties prevent him from being there."

"That the way of it, little one?"

River calmed, nodding earnestly. "He must protect. It is his nature. But can't see the castle for the trees. Lost in the woods without breadcrumbs to bring him back."

"Huh." Mal studied on that for a moment. "So why didn't he want you to help him. Or to tell anyone?"

"Doesn't want to be weak. Doesn't want to be pitied." She hesitated, her voice dropping low. "Doesn't want to be replaced. Dishonored. Cast aside. Redacted."

Mal and Zoe exchanged glances. "So, how have you been helping Jayne?" Zoe asked. "Other than keeping his secret."

"Which we're gonna have a talk about later, you and I, young lady," Mal cut in. "Don't like secrets on my gorram boat. Least, not secrets kept from me. Captain's got a right to know –"

"Mal!" Inara interrupted him before he could get his steam going. "River, mei-mei, how did you help Jayne?"

"A symbol." She said, suddenly bright. "Helped him make a symbol, to remind him of the myths and truths. Help him find his way home."

"Symbol?" Zoe caught the inference. "Like Shepherd Book's symbol? His Bible?"

"Yes! Helps him know the story of Jayne! Navigate without hitting landmines until he can find his way home."

"The Book of Jayne?" Mal snorted, shaking his head at the double meaning. "First he's got a gorram statue, now he's got a ruttin'… wait. River, how long Jayne been havin' this problem."

The girl bit her lip, looking a bit ashamed. "It's all her fault. She caused the trouble."

"River?"

Dropping her head, she hid behind the dark strands again. "Since she led them all to Miranda," she said in a voice so small he could hardly hear her. "Since she showed them what the Alliance had done. Woke up the protector in him, woke up the old. Government ought not do such things to their citizens. Ought to protect them. Caused a conflict, let the curtain rip away. Underneath, the window was transparent when it shouldn't be. Doesn't know his way."

The four of them stood in the corridor silently. Mal could only guess what was going through the other's heads, but his was buzzing with more questions now than when the whole day had started.

"So, where is this Book of Jayne?"

A/N: I know this is a long chapter, but after stalling on me, it came back and decided it didn't want to quit! More to come. Reviews are appreciated! ;D


	16. Chapter 16

Ghosts & Memories Past ~ Chapter 16

Disclaimer: Y'all know the deal by now. Nope, they ain't mine. Nope, ain't makin' coin off 'em. And yup, Joss is still Boss! Purely for fun, to satisfy the Muse…

Thanks to Jellie_RayneLuv for the beta and help on this project! And thanks to all who have given such great support. Y'all Rock!

_Recap of our story so far:_

_Each time Jayne Cobb wakes, the memories of his life have been wiped clear. Only a notebook in his own handwriting gives him details of his life onboard.__While escaping Patience and Alliance operatives, who want Jayne alive, Mal notices Jayne acting and talking odd. Jayne admits his dilemma, though he's unaware that the process will repeat when he sleeps.  
Back on Serenity, Mal and Jayne fill the crew in on the problem, with varying degrees of suspicious confused response. Jayne follows Simon to the medbay for testing, while Mal, Zoe and Inara try to make sense of what River seems to know…_

_.  
_

Chapter Sixteen – Questions and Clues

Aboard Transport _Serenity_ ~ In the Black

...

_His boots beat heavy and loud against the metal grating of the stairs, but they can't drown out the hard thumping in his chest as he follows the younger man through the ship's belly._

_Simon casts an enigmatic look over his shoulder toward him, but never meets his eyes. That unnerving feeling of a mottled past with this man ranges around his mind. He tenses, only slightly noticeably, trying hard not to let it show._

_But the doctor's a sharp one. The already-stiff posture grows more rigid in response. The man's worried about what he'll find, afraid of what really lies beneath the surface of Jayne Cobb._

_Jayne Cobb is more than a bit worried about that, himself._

"_Please remove your shirt, and have a seat on the examination table."_

_It's not a request, but a politely- couched order. The cool, collected voice strengthens as they pass through the door to the medbay. This is the doctor's realm, his element. Here, the man who looks to be only slightly past boyhood is in control, confident in his abilities, and that gives the younger man a slight advantage._

_The medbay is white, crisp and sterile. Just like a dozen other facilities he's been in, with the same antiseptic smell and bright, harsh lighting and temperature kept about ten degrees shy of comfortable. He wonders briefly how he knows that, since he can't visualize any of those exams, nor the doctors that performed them._

"_I need you to describe precisely what symptoms are occurring. And the duration. Do you experience any somatic or physiological pain? Headaches? Nausea? Disorientation? Visual or auditory anomalies?"_

_Simon's voice is clinical and detached, hands steady and practiced as he draws some type of liquid from a clear glass vial into a syringe-type device. The doctor's attention is focused on the measurement, but his glance strays over to the table._

_Waiting for something, for a response, and not just for the answers._

_Jayne clears his throat, trying to be as cooperative as possible without stirring up deeper trouble that he's already got._

"_Not quite sure on the duration. I woke up in the dungeon with Mal, can't recall anything prior to that moment."_

"_Nothing? Not even from, say, your childhood?"_

_He squirms a bit, unnerved by the mention of his childhood. For a brief moment, he worries that the feeling is connected to unpleasantness, but realizes almost immediately that the sensation is something else entirely._

_Guilt._

_What kind of man doesn't remember his own mother? Her scent, her voice, her soothing hand against his brow? Deep within, a gentle warmth grows at the thought of her, followed swiftly by the frustration and despair at his inability to connect details to that feeling._

"_Nothing," he says flatly. "Jail cell. The captain. Two men trying to kill us. Running through the hills. Hiding from the pursuit. Gunfight. Zoe and River flying in. Returning to Serenity."_

_Shrugging a shoulder, he lets a grimace show. "That's it. Wouldn't even know my name, nor any of yours had it not been for Malcolm."_

_Simon looks sharply at him. Great. Another screw-up to figure out. Heaving a sigh, he tackles his question head-on._

"_Doctor-patient confidentiality still apply here?"_

_Simon frowns, but nods curtly. "Within reason, so long as it doesn't endanger the crew, yes."_

"_Would you care to explain what 'precisely' I just said that grabbed your attention? Because between you and me, Doctor, I know there's something wrong."_

_The doctor cocks a dark brow at the understatement._

"_I mean besides the amnesia, obviously. Everyone keeps looking at me like I've grown a spare eye every time I open my mouth. I'm just trying to piece together what exactly it is I'm saying that's out of place… out of line?"_

_Simon crosses to the table, hesitating for a moment to size up his patient. He's still wary, as if he expected the larger man to leap up and start bashing him about the neatly-kept medbay. Fear flickers through the blue depths of his searching eyes, then a small acceptance._

"_It's not so much what you've been saying, exactly. Nothing you've said has been… out of line." Simon raises the device to the exposed bicep, releasing the trigger. A faint hiss is followed by a warmth down the muscle, flowing into the rest of the body. "Perhaps a more apt description would be 'out of character.'"_

"_I don't follow, Doctor," he replies, rubbing at his arm muscle. "Could you elaborate?"_

_Simon throws both hands up, suddenly agitated. "That!" He sputters, losing his composure. "There! Just – what you just said!"_

"_What did I say?" That warm relaxed feeling evaporates, confused frustration roiling into its place._

"_Could I 'elaborate'? 'Malcolm'? 'Doctor-patient confidentiality'?"_

_His brows furrow, partly in question, but becoming more a response to the rising anger. "What's specifically wrong with asking any of that? How am I supposed to know if I don't ask?"_

"_Specif –?" the doctor's face flushes to a deep rose hue. "Specifically, Jayne Cobb doesn't speak like this. The Jayne Cobb I know doesn't… doesn't have such a varied and extensive vocabulary. In fact, Jayne Cobb would probably have to inquire as to the definition of 'extensive' and 'vocabulary'… and possibly even 'inquire'! Jayne Cobb has a back-berth Rim accent, glaringly absent! Half the time, Jayne Cobb doesn't even properly enunciate!"_

"_I beg your pardon?"_

"_See? See?" The young man was practically jumping up and down now, pointing at him like… well, like he'd grown that extra eye._

"_No, I don't 'see'," he huffs, sitting up from the exam table, arms crossed and giving the hysterical fellow a warning glare. "Are you trying to say I'm an imbecile who completely lacks any social graces?"_

"_YES!" The doctor shouts, poking a finger at the ceiling as if he'd just shared an epiphany. "Yes! Y-you… I mean…that is… it's just…"_

_The smaller man trails off, his crimson coloring paling swiftly to an anemic shade of gray. "I mean….that's not to say…" Simon has the good sense to step backward, obviously realizing the man he's calling a foul-mannered idiot also possesses a considerably larger mass and density and is just brimming with people-killing skills. And is sitting, unrestrained, within easy arm's reach of him._

"_I, ah.. didn't mean it that like… um… I… apologize, Jayne. It's just that… the unexpectedness of it all…"_

_Pivoting toward the door, he turns back for a second. "If you'll excuse me for a moment, I'm afraid I need to… regain my professional composure. My apologies. I'll be right back… please, lie back and… try to relax. The medication will aid in the cerebral scan we need to perform to determine what's… going on … up… there…" He waves a distracted hand at his own head._

_Pressing his lips tightly together, possibly to keep from digging himself further into the hole, the doctor spins around and flees the medbay as if the hounds of hell are at his heels._

_He sighs, running a large palm down his face._

"_Great," he mutters to himself. "I'm not only amnesiatic, I'm a moron as well."_

_He lays his head back against the table. This whole examining business has every alarm in his mind ringing out, telling him to stay alert and on his guard. But honestly, he can't come up with any option except to trust these folks. Somewhere deep within him, he knows he does._

_...  
_

Mal insisted he and Zoe search Jayne's quarters first, as there weren't no telling if a paranoid mercenary might have booby-trapped his own bunk to keep folks from plundering his possessions.

"Not mercenary," River insisted, favoring Mal with a disproving scowl. "Crew, now. _Family_."

"I'm sure you're right, mei-mei, but let's let the captain and Zoe inspect things first," Inara soothed, placing a gentle arm around the young woman.

"Just cause he sees us as crew don't necessarily mean it's safe to go trompin' around his lair," Captain warned as he keyed in the unlock code for Jayne's hatch. "Says it his own self, 'man in this line o'work don't live too long getting careless.'"

"Jayne knows none of us would go rummagin' round his things, with or without askin'," Zoe told the girl, surprising even herself with the statement. The need to defend the man surged past her innate caution, recent suspicions of him and her long-standing support of Mal. "Don't reckon he'd set out to hurt none of us deliberate, but he may have left a surprise or two for any unexpected visitors."

Mal nodded as he pushed open the hatch and set one booted foot on the top rung of the ladder. "Best safer than sorrier, dong ma? 'Specially in light of recent developments. Zoe?"

"Right behind you, sir."

...

To be continued….

Author's note: I know this is a shorty chapter, but the rest of it wanted to be its own chapter. Next one nearly done, just needs some finishing touches. Also, I got a wild hair and posted this unbeta'd. Any mistakes are my own; let me know if I missed a goof somewhere? As always, reviews are like manna… please feed the writer? Thanks!


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: Y'all know the deal by now. Nope, they ain't mine. Nope, ain't makin' coin off 'em. And yup, Joss is still Boss! Purely for fun, to satisfy the Muse…  
Thanks to Jellie_RayneLuv and Vandevere for betas and help on this project! And thanks to all who have given such great support. Y'all Rock!

.

.

Chapter Seventeen – Unexpected

. ~*~*~*~

Aboard Transport _Serenity_ ~ In the Black

Zoe turned slowly around the gun hand's quarters, brows rising as she surveyed the scene.

"Huh," Mal murmured from across the room. "Well… this ain't quite what I expected."

"I'm shocked, my own self, sir," Zoe said flatly. "Who'da guessed Jayne had pictures of 'nekkid women' on his wall?"

The captain rolled his eyes. "Ain't what I meant. This," he waved a hand absently around the room as he strolled around the tight but tidy quarters. "This what you'da figured, comin' down to Jayne's bunk?"

As a rule, Mal respected his crew's privacy in their own bunks, despite his constant nagging about needin' to know every little detail of what went on aboard his boat. Most times, he just banged on the hatch and hollered down to them when he needed something. Zoe couldn't recall a time any of them had actually set foot in Jayne's bunk, maybe not since the big man had joined Serenity.

"Not sure I ever imagined myself _bein'_ in Jayne's bunk, sir."

The first mate turned to take in the spartan décor. Except for Jayne's 'girls' on the wall, there was little other decoration to the room. A faded, time-worn quilt adorned the tightly made cot, but not much else spoke of a personal touch. Nothing here hinted of secret ties with the Feds. Nor much of ties with anyone else.

Pulling back a faded print sheet that hung over the cubby-hole behind the bunk, Zoe wasn't surprised to find the man's other 'girls'. Rows of gleaming weaponry hung on display. The soldier in her nodded approvingly at the immaculate state the man kept his weapons in. And at the practicality of the display.

_Not a display. _Zoe felt the corner of her mouth turn up slightly. _Nobody else comes down here, nobody to show it off to. This here's a small armory._ Hung at arm's reach, each piece was easy to identify, select and have in-hand at a moment's notice, even in the dim night-hour lighting. _That's our Jayne, always ready for the fight._

For a heartbeat, she marveled at how easily that sprang to mind. _'Our Jayne.'_ Trusting the man to have her back had become second nature, a foregone conclusion since Miranda and the hell that had followed. Zoe felt the creasing in her brow, but quickly smoothed it. River had seemed convinced the man was on the solid, but until some proof – one side or the other – could be found, the suspicions would linger. Still, the idea that Jayne might have been playing them false the whole time… it just didn't sit well in her chest.

_Focus_, she chided herself, trying to force thoughts of the Reaver battle from her mind. _Fed or not, the man saved your life that day, and how many since then, when you went wooly after Wash died? Literally pulled you from the mouths of Reavers; covered your ass and took the point on jobs when you were perfectly happy to greet a bullet, sought it out. Now he's the one gone bibbledy, least you can do is focus, help figure out what the guay's going on. Owe the man at least that much, if not more._

Mal was carefully sifting through Jayne's clothes drawers, carefully, because there weren't no tellin' if the man had booby-trapped his own stuff against intruders. Zoe spied a neat bundle of envelopes tucked into the corner of the cubby-hole. Gently picking up the bundle, she fingered the thin string that bound the letters together.

"Letters from his mother," she noted quietly, hesitant to breach the layer of privacy.

Wasn't any secret that Jayne treasured his mother, proudly reading her letters out loud every time one reached him in the Black. Though the details of his home life were seldom discussed, Zoe knew he had a younger brother, Mattie, and that Mother Cobb ran a small rural homestead on one of the outer Rim moons. And the woman could knit, as the multi-hued orange cunning hat in Mal's hand attested.

"Whazzat?" Mal pointed his chin toward the pack of letters in her hands. "Find anything helpful?"

"Letters from his mother," Zoe repeated, holding the bundle up for view, but oddly hesitant to hand it over. Didn't matter that Jayne had already shared every syllable with them, nearly soon as he got them. A man's letters from his momma were a personal thing.

Kinda like his underwear, which Mal now had stacked atop the bolted-in dresser. Much as everybody figured everybody else had them, wasn't something a body went askin' about.

_Funny, never figured him for the plain-whites type ._ Her active mind startled her with the sudden image of him in those briefs, the crisp cotton fabric hugging a well-rounded rear, with long, muscular legs flexed and ready to spring.

"Zo'?" Mal called a bit loudly.

"Sir?"

Mal looked at her strangely, like she'd missed part of a conversation. "I _said_, 'Anything that might help us out there?'"

"Not that I can see right off," she replied, making a point to inspect the worn missives. An embarrassing warmth crept up her neck and cheeks.

_Ai ya! Was I just sitting here, imagining Jayne Cobb in his underwear!_ The thought horrified her, more so as she stole a glance at the captain, who had gone back to rifling through Jayne's collection of tee-shirts. _Wash ain't been gone a year yet, and here you are thinking… no. No! Wasn't thinking on Jayne like that._

The memory of her beloved's quirky smile and laughing, devoted gaze caused the familiar sting in her own eyes. _Wash, Baby… it wasn't supposed to be like this… _Shame flooded her. How could she ever consider any other man, even involuntarily, when her Wash was dead?

_Wasn't supposed to be you that went first… won't never be another for me… don't have it in me to try again… _

They'd had that conversation early on in their marriage, the one where she made him promise if anything happened to her that he'd try to find someone to love again. _Wasn't supposed to be like this… _

Of course, he'd made her swear the same thing, on principle. She'd laughed at that, feeling pretty safe in repeating his promise. After all, he'd been the pilot, secure and protected in the ship during meet-ups and shoot-outs, just like she wanted him to be.

She was the one always facing mortal peril. _I know I promised. Said I'd try to find… if… after… I don't know if I ever can, Baby. Just, wasn't supposed to be you that died…_

Zoe tamped down the sorrow before it overwhelmed her, using the task at hand as a focus point.

Jayne's book. The book of Jayne. Memory-Wash waggled his eyebrows at her. She could just imagine the hilarity he'd have found in the situation. Wash'd laugh his ass off to see Mal's apoplexy at the mere notion of her and Jayne ever getting romantical.

_Not that we ever would_, she reminded herself sharply, _because… well, ain't no man ever gonna be Wash. And besides… it's Jayne._

Somehow that last thought didn't hold the punch it once would. Luckily, the darker shading of her skin hid her faint blush from Mal. Or so she hoped, as she thumbed through the postal dates on the letters.

"Nothin' unusual, sir," she said. "Letters start about four years back, last one was a few weeks ago. I remember him readin' it. Mother was pressin' him on … whether he'd found him a good… woman… to keep around permanent-like."

Mal snorted from across the room, oblivious to the way her voice had hesitated on the words. "Not likely Jayne's told her 'bout his usual gals. Nor 'bout their general form of vocation. Hope that woman ain't pinin' for grandbabies any time soon."

Zoe frowned at the captain's back, but was hard pressed to put a reason to the why. Not like she cared who the ship's resident muscle slept with, or the fact that he paid for it most times. Mal was right, though. Weren't the kind of thing a man shares with his lovin' mother. Still, the way the captain had said it had got her hackles up on Jayne's behalf, for some reason or other.

_Man ain't here to defend hisself_, she reasoned. _Besides, what's Mal complainin' on? If it weren't for the professional gals Jayne visited dirt-side, only other option he'd have was one of the women here on the ship. Man like Jayne ain't the kind can go without female attention too long._

Not like Mal who'd danced around his feelings for Inara for years. Course, Inara had it just as bad for the captain. And any rate, not too likely a high-class Companion would look to a coarse gun-hand for her needs.

Kaylee wasn't an option, either. After the battle at Mr. Universe's hideout, her and Doc hadn't left their now-shared quarters for near two whole days. Once Simon finally got that stick outta his pi gu, threw his fancy Core notions on 'proper' out the airlock, and just let nature – and Kaylee – take charge of things, the doc had mellowed out right nicely.

Zoe grimaced at the thought of Jayne and River sharing… _no, can't even picture the two of them doin'… no_…

River was pretty enough for Jayne's tastes, prettier than most of the women she'd seen him take 'upstairs'. But the girl was still just that, far as he seemed to notice, and judging by his dirt-side company, he preferred women with more mature curves.

Them two had settled into an unspoken truce of sorts, and the gun-hand had even taken the girl under his wing. He'd trained with her, took her with him to shop for gear on her lucid days, and ignored her or steered clear in the less-than-solid times. No, River was more like the baby sister he'd wound up with instead of the puppy he'd asked for. Not quite what he wanted, but still something to watch over and look out for and even care about.

That only left herself as a possible shipboard romance. Zoe shook her head as a small, manic laugh threatened to rise. _As if that day would ever come!_

_Why not?_ The unbidden thought rose up, backed by the earlier imagining of Jayne's mostly unclothed form.

_Because!_ She shouted the errant, foolish idea back into the dark of her thoughts.

_Because… because it's Jayne. _Another image formed in her mind, hazy and pain-numbed, but unmistakable. A thick-muscled, blood-splattered arm reaching for her, finding her, relentlessly pulling her from the despair and the fear and the rage. Dragging her bodily from the snarling mouths and claws of Reavers. Hauling her to safety. _He was just doin' his job. Gets paid to keep the crew safe and alive._

_Weren't getting' paid for that. Not none of that, and you ruttin'-well know it. And, it was gorram Reavers. _

Wasn't but one thing Zoe'd ever seen Jayne show true fear over. He'd met Feds with rock-solid sullenness. Stared down stone killers and cutthroats with an icy glare and cocky smirk of his own. Stood up to Mal much of the time, even though the captain could boot him onto any rock at the next port… or into the cold nothing of the Black. She didn't know if that was the man's bravery, or just mulish pride on his part.

But Reavers were different. Everyone feared them, but Jayne's fear bordered on sheer terror, so much so that he didn't bother to hide it. The man took offense at any imagined slur against his brave manliness, but didn't give a good gorram who knew he was scared shitless of Reavers. Any fool who weren't just didn't have sense enough to live, he'd explained.

_He stood with you without thought of coin. Came out from shelter to save your sorry ass, after you disregarded all good sense and orders. That man came for you, an' don't you forget it!_

Zoe leaned a knee on the cot and gently placed the bundle of letters back where she'd found them. Whatever was going on in Jayne's head, whatever was behind the memory loss or beneath the surface, she was fair certain his love for his Mother was on the square. Just wasn't the sorta thing you could fake.

Disturbed by the unexpected train of thoughts, she stalled for a moment to clear her features and her mind before she could turn to face Mal. Buying herself a few seconds, she smoothed the now-creased bedding, stopping short when her hands felt the slight lump beneath them. Easing back the quilt, Zoe discovered a plain, thin notebook resting between the covers.

"Mal?" She carefully thumbed the sheets, revealing page after page of hand-written notes.

"Whatcha got, Zoe?"

"Think I just found Jayne's 'symbol'."

. ~*~*~*~

To be continued….


	18. Chapter 18

Ghosts & Memories Past ~ Chapter 18

Disclaimer: Y'all know the deal by now. Nope, they ain't mine. Nope, ain't makin' coin off 'em. And yup, Joss is still Boss! Purely for fun, to satisfy the Muse…  
WHOOT! Y'ALL ROCK! Over 10,000 hits showing love for this story. I don't have the words to thank you guys for the wonderful support and awesome critiques and review comments. Thank you. Grazi. Merci. Gracias. Danke. Spaseeba. 'Preciate it…..infinity…infinity…infinity…

Thanks to Jellie_RayneLuv for the beta and help on this project!

_Each time Jayne Cobb wakes, the memories of his life have been wiped clear. Mal and the crew of Serenity aren't sure whether Jayne's the now-trusted crewmember they've come to see as family, or traitorous Alliance threat…. Neither does Jayne…_

Chapter Eighteen – Sketch of Truths

.~.~.~.~.

Aboard Transport _Serenity_ ~ In the Black

"'_Your name is Jayne Cobb. Don't ask. You're a bad-ass mercenary, so not too many folk give you shit about the name_.'"

Mal let out a snort, glancing up at Zoe from the handwritten notes. There was always a few dumb enough to poke fun at a man's name. That was a sure-fire way to get a tussle started, don't matter who that man was. Poking fun at a six-foot-four, well-muscled, overly-armed, bad-tempered-at-the-best-of-times mercenary was never a bright idea.

But funnin' said mercenary over the name his lovin' momma saw fit to bestow on him? Well, that there was just beggin' to get thrown outta the gene pool. Any man that foolish was doin' the 'verse a favor in that, far as Mal figured. Just weren't fair to the young'uns, passin' on that kinda stupid.

"'_If you're reading this, you're probably in your own bunk on the transport ship Serenity. Look behind the curtain at the bed. These are your weapons. Here are their names…._'"

"Huh. Always wondered how Jayne came by the names for his 'girls'," Mal mused. Running a finger down the line, he couldn't help be impressed at the sheer number of weapons the man had. Not to mention the number of unique names Jayne had to come up with to personalize each one.

Not all the names were matched by a gun on the wall. Made sense. Other than with the crew, Jayne was cautious, bordering on paranoid on most of days. Mal never gave much thought to that, being as how an over-trusting mercenary tended to end up a broke, stranded or dead mercenary.

Still, given the ever-worrying question of exactly who the hell Jayne Cobb was, the captain had to wonder whether them other guns had been lost or sold or traded. Or maybehaps tucked away in a private stash, Jayne waiting for that "interestin' day" they'd discussed so long ago when the merc hadn't turned on the captain, cause the "money wasn't good enough."

Mal almost felt like a chou wang ba dan for suspecting the man who'd come onto Serenity for a bigger cut and private bunk, but who'd stayed even through the lean and deadly times for some other reason. Mal liked to think it was cause of what all they'd gone through together. Then again, it wasn't just mercs what ended up broke or stranded or dead for putting too much trust in the wrong folk.

A bit of remorse tugged at him when he read one name. He knew full well where Vera was. Regardless who or what her master was, Vera'd saved his own pi gu more than once. Good as lost now. When, or if, Jayne ever got his brainpan straightened back out, he was gonna be pissed at losing his 'very favorite gun' back on Whitefall.

"'Got six other people on this boat. Used to be…'" Mal faltered in the reading, shooting a worried look over to Zoe. The mate had busied herself putting Jayne's belongings back into the drawers, only a tightening of her jaw indicating she'd been following along with his reading.

"Zo', I can read to myself, you prefer. 'Used to be eight,'" he continued sadly when she shook her head. "'Long story, see below. These are your crewmates. Friends. They are NOT targets. Your job is to protect them. Do not kill them. Not even when they need it. Not even when you really, really want to. Especially the doctor, who you will want to kill. A lot. Often. Don't. This will make Kaylee cry. You'll know why you don't want to do that as soon as you see her. Plus, he patches you up when a job goes south. Which is a lot. Often.'"

A well-covered cough from the corner earned Zoe a captainy glare. "Ay too, Zoe?"

The first mate had the good grace to suppress an outright smile, but Mal had known the woman too gorram long to miss the near imperceptible twitching at the corners of her mouth.

"Didn't say a word, sir."

Mal dove back into the writing, pointedly ignoring her, and mumbling just under his breath about mutinies and supposedly loyal friends. Weren't his fault Lady Luck had it in for him, twisting his well-schemed schemes every which way and sabotagin' what shoulda been perfectly simple plans.

The rest of the relatively short essay was a crude dossier of the crew, notes on the jobs they'd gone on since Miranda, things a body ought to be able to remember. The oddest parts, though, were the entries in the back.

Separated from the notes was a section full of scribblings and sketches. There were some alarmingly lifelike sketches, one of each of them point of fact, including Book and Wash. Each picture had a name and brief description neatly printed in the margins. Mal flinched in alarm, instantly running the scenario of paranoia through his head that this was some kind of spy book, and Jayne was indeed gathering information on all of them.

The sheer absurdity of that made him laugh. No kinda spy, least no kinda spy what was any account, woulda drawn them all in such relaxed and friendly-like expressions. Besides, if Jayne was spying on them for the Alliance, why wouldn't he just use a capture? Woulda been a far cry simpler, and it weren't like the Alliance didn't have their files already anyway.

No, the bits and pieces of data Jayne had put together didn't seem like anything the Feds would've wanted no how. Like they'd give a good gorram that Kaylee went bibbledy over strawberries, or that Simon tugged his ear when thinking, or that Zoe hadn't shed a single tear in front of the crew, although Jayne could hear her softly crying through the thin metal wall at night.

That revelation stunned Mal. He knew that under the stern surface she showed the world, Zoe was a passionate, caring, deeply-feeling woman who'd walk through the fires of hell for them she held dear. But even during the war and after, he'd never actually _seen_ her break.

She was the Rock of gorram Gibraltar, far as she let anybody see, including him. Even when she'd watched her husband get killed right in front of her, Zoe'd been distraught, but only until the soldier had kicked in. Even in her very obvious grief, her eyes had stayed dry.

A bit of him felt betrayed and ashamed at the same time. She was his best friend. They'd been through the worst that the 'verse had to throw at them, side-by-side, and yet she'd never let her guard down far enough to show her tears. She'd never broke. It was one of the few constants in his 'verse he could call absolute and could rely on without fail.

Staring at the sketch of his own face, Mal silently admitted it was him that had failed. Failed her not once but twice now. She'd never said it, never likely thought it herself, but that didn't make it any less true.

He'd told her, told all of them back there at the Valley, that they'd make it though. That the Independents would eventually win the day. That the righteousness of their cause didn't leave room for nothing less.

He'd lied. Didn't matter that a lowly sergeant had no say on whether the Browncoats' leadership surrendered to the Alliance. He'd given his word that it'd never happen and it'd happened just the same. The drawing-Mal's eyes crinkled around the corners with silent humor, but the shame was there, too, if you knew where to look for it.

It should've been him that knew her pain, heard her reach her limit. Not Jayne, not even by accident of proximity of their bunks. Not nobody else but him shoulda had that kinda personal information about Zoe. And yet he hadn't known.

His fingers trembled just a touch as he turned the page, Wash's laughing face staring back from the gray shading and hatching. He woulda known, if he'd bothered to ask. But he hadn't, didn't want to really ask, was afraid to. Afraid he'd see the answer, see her crumbling in front of him.

Of all the rotten things Mal Reyolds had seen come to pass, and even been party to in his life, he didn't want her to confirm what he already knew. That it was all his fault she'd got broken. A little selfish part of him still denied it. Zoe was his rock. He wanted her to be whole, needed her to be, no matter what it took to make it happen.

Shaking off the ghosts, Mal flipped past the familiar faces to find some of folk he'd never met, along with ramblings about some go se that just made no sense a'tall. Didn't seem like Jayne had it figured out, either. The neat, orderly writing grew heavier and almost frantic on these pages. Like he was trying to grasp at the meanings, get it all down before – Mal shivered – before it went away.

Some of the faces were almost familiar. That one was possibly Patience, maybe that one Badger, if he squinted real hard. These were some that were little more than hinted-at silhouettes, question marks jotted along the edge of the page.

"Anybody we know?" Zoe'd crept up behind him… well, he admitted, maybe she hadn't been sneaking, he'd just been so focused on other things he hadn't heard her.

Mal shook his head. "Other than us and a couple that might be folks we all know, I ain't seen one body yet I reckon I ever laid eyes on. You?"

He handed the sketches over to her. Zoe thumbed the pictures with a frown of concentration, her eyes softening as she lingered on Wash's likeness for a few brief seconds longer than the others.

"Can't say who none of these are, sir," she replied, handing him back the book. "Is odd, though."

"Odd? You mean odder than our gun hand losin' his marbles, forgettin' hisself and his own name, and the Feds wantin' him so bad they'd come for him out on Whitefall and make a deal sweet enough for Patience to play nice an' keep us alive long enough for them to collect him? Can't say I'd noticed anything in this book odder'n that."

"Hmmm," she replied, giving him one of them 'let the dumbass captain try to figure it out before makin' him look like an idiot' looks.

Mal sighed. "Just tell me."

"Ain't what's there that's odd," she said, rolling her eyes at him when he gives her that smartass look. "Okay, that's plenty odd. But it ain't what stood out. It's what ain't there."

Mal peered over her arm at the notes he'd just spent a half-hour going through for clues like some Earth-that-Was detective with a magnifying glass. "I ain't seein'it, Zoe."

"Exactly, sir," she said, like that cleared up everything.

"Zoe…?"

"The writing, sir," she flipped the pages slowly, giving him plenty of time to scan each one. "Don't it strike you odd?"

Mal took the notebook she held out to him, straining to find some unusualness to the neat, heavy script. Other than the fact Jayne's vocabulary had expanded past what everyone gave the man credit for, there wasn't much to comment on.

"What? Jayne's a better speller than I figured him for," Mal admitted. "Ain't one single bit of nothin' here seems even wrote with bad grammar."

"Ain't one single bit of nothin' here wrote in anything but English," Zoe pointed out. "That don't strike you as odd? Even given the current situational oddness?"

"Huh." Mal frowned at the suddenly more suspicious pages. "Now you mention it…"

.~.~.~.

To be continued....

Translation: chou wang ba dan: lousy bastard


	19. Chapter 19

Ghosts & Memories Past ~ Chapter 19

Disclaimer: Y'all know the deal by now. Nope, they ain't mine. Nope, ain't makin' coin off 'em. And yup, Joss is still Boss! Purely for fun, to satisfy the Muse…

Y'all Rock! Thanks so much for the continued interest and reviews for this story!

Got in a rush, so self-beta'd. All goofs my own gorram fault, LOL!

.

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Chapter Nineteen –

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Aboard Transport _Serenity_ ~ In the Black

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"Secrets of the 'verse squirreled away in that table, little one?"

River's finger stopped tracing the low table's wood grain long enough to glance up at the captain as he stepped into the passenger lounge. Ducking behind her hair as he held up the notebook, she focused on the intricate pattern of lines in the wood.

"She told him she was not a tattler," she whispered, accusation and guilt warring in her tone. "Promised she would help, but respected his need to find the key to himself on his own."

Inara slid an arm around the girl. "You chose the right path, mei-mei. The more quickly we can find out what's wrong with Jayne, the more quickly we can help him."

Kaylee nodded in support from the other side, patting the girl's shoulder. "Jayne won't be sore at ya. Shoot, he might not even… remember it." Even Kaylee cringed as the words came out, though nobody could say she was wrong.

"I don't think Jayne'll blame you for doin' what needed done, River," Mal said. "Though I can't say I'm overpleased with two of my folks keepin' such big secrets on my boat. We'll have us a chat about that later, dong ma?" He threw a reproachful eye at her. "For the now, we need to know what's goin' on with him. And the man seems set on findin' the answers best way can be managed."

"Th' man's set on gettin' a' this pokin' an' proddin' over with soon's c'n be man'ged," came the slurred rumble from inside the medbay.

"We've nearly completed the testing, Captain," Simon's clipped, cultured words rang out in sharp contrast to his patient's sedative-laced voice. "I'd say within the next ten minutes, we'll have results. How much good they'll do, I'm not sure. Without access to a proper neural imager, I can only tell if there's been any major trauma or large-scale invasive procedures, and the like."

"Well, this here not bein' a Core hospital, ain't none of us expect miracles, Doc." Mal leaned against the doorway watching his medic trace the merc's scalp with some electronic gizmo. "Just do best as can, with what we got."

He was a bit surprised at how well the big man was taking all this pokin' and proddin' and scannin'. Was a time not too far back, Jayne woulda been cussin' a blue streak at what all Simon had to do to get his tests done. At the very least, he'd be complainin' to everybody in earshot that all this go se weren't necessary, and he was just fine, and the pansy-ass Doc better hurrythehellup cause it was 'bout dinner time and Jayne's appetite waited for no man, tests begorramed.

That image of Jayne was contrary to this man laying on the exam table, his ankles crossed, fingers laced, hands relaxed on his bare chest as the gizmo whirred and flashed and beeped. Only sign he wasn't just settled in, takin' his leisure, was a slight tic of his jaw when the contraption made a particular loud beep, and his brows lifting a bit when Simon let out the occasional curious 'hmmm.'

"You fin' an'thin' of in'trest up there? M'quarters?" The sedative may have relaxed him to point of slowing his speech, but those keen blue eyes were still sharper than most as they lit on the notebook in Mal's hand. "Whaz tha'?"

"This here's yer diary," Mal told him, not surprised Jayne figured out where he'd been. "Seem's you been keepin' notes, writin' stuff down for the past little while."

"Whazzit say?"

Mal didn't envy him one bitty whit as he watched Jayne's emotions run quick. The surprise of finding out there might be answers gave way to a suddenly hopeful light spreading across the man's face, followed swiftly by a guarded wariness. Jayne was fit to bust, wantin' to get into that book and maybehaps find his answers, and just as much scared to death of what they might be.

"Says a lotta things," Mal admitted. "And a few things, and not much of nothin'."

Jayne's face clouded in sudden anger, but Mal held up a hand to calm him. "Ain't tryin' to yank ya around, Jayne, just bein' honest as I can. There's a heap of stuff about us folk on Serenity, 'bout what all we got into on Miranda and bits about the crew. Stuff the rest of us already know, but seems like ya been havin' to remind yerself of it pretty regular. Don't say why, just what is."

"Wha' else? Say how lon'?"

Mal shook his head, "Don't rightly say, but ya didn't start writin' it 'til after Miranda. After the fight with Reavers."

Jayne's blank look asked the question.

"'Bout eight months or so," Mal answered, catching the rest of the crew's surprise that their friend had been getting through the days like this and not one of them had caught on. Only one that didn't look shocked at that was River, who was still tracing the table with her fingertip.

"Seems ya had some help, too," Mal mentioned, casting a look to the girl. River's head shot up, her eyes begging him not to reveal that she'd led him and Zoe to Jayne's secret fears. "Our resident genius-crazy girl-pilot is pretty handy with a pencil. Any of these look familiar?"

Mal flipped the book open to the sketches of the crew, watching Jayne's expression as the gun hand glanced at each face.

"Tha's you. Zo'. 'Nara. Kaylee. Sim'n. River."

Mal nodded, expecting him to know those who were on the ship. He turned to another page. "How 'bout this one?"

Jayne studied the new face intently for a moment, opening his mouth as if to speak, but shutting it again as his brows knit together. "Know 'im. Don' know how. Should." Sadness gathered around his eyes as he stared at each of the crew. They had stiffened.

"How 'bout this one?" Mal turned the page, noticing the twinge around the man's mouth as he focused on the sketch.

"Good man. Name's not comin'. Both of 'em, good men. Can't say how…" Turning toward the plain white wall, Jayne struggled against the water blurring his vision. "Ought to know. Not right I don' know their names." Turning back to Mal, he sharpened for a moment. "Th' two we lost. Told me back there, lost Wash and Book."

The dawning memories of the two men lit in his eyes, the sheer joy of knowing threatening to bring a smile to his face. Mal watched as the memories must have unfolded, the happiness falling into a tight-lipped grimace. "Lost them. Book. Wash."

"Mal, are there any other portraits in the book?" Simon's question drew his attention back to the process. "And could you show Jayne the crew's sketches again first?"

He obliged the Doc, curious as to what the young man was after. Slowly turning the pages as Simon continued the test, Mal heard the scanner beep at irregular intervals as Jayne pored over each of the sketches. At each page, Simon scribbled something on a pad.

"Any notion as to these here?" Mal asked, showing Jayne the unfinished sketches. Simon shot the captain a look over Jayne's head, rotating his finger to ask Mal to repeat the sequence.

Jayne frowned, squinting hard on the less defined pictures for several long moments. "Dunno, seems I should. Can't…" Huffing a frustrated sigh, he closed his eyes. "Doc, we 'bout fin'shed?"

Simon laid the gizmo on the counter, leaning down to peer through a microscope. "I think we've done all we're equipped for, short of sneaking into another Alliance facility," the younger man said, arching a dark brow at the two other men. "And given their current interest in Jayne, that would not be advisable. Honestly, though…" Simon paused, his left hand absently rubbing at his ear, "I'm not finding anything that appears threatening to your health, Jayne. Which in itself is odd."

Simon pressed a hypoinjector to Jayne's upper arm. "That should clear up your 'fuzziness' from the sedative."

"Wha's odd?" Jayne asked, rubbing his arm muscle and pushing his large frame to sit on the edge of the table.

"Well, given your… lifestyle…bad whisky, cheap cigars, late hours, loose women," Simon ticked off the man's well-known habits on his fingers. "Meals of questionable nutrient value, limited availability of fresh produce, recycled water and air, back-breaking work, frequency of being shot, stabbed, punched…"

Jayne glowered at the man. "I get the idea, Doc, d'you care to get to the point soon?"

Simon shook his head in wonder, loading the chip from the scanner into his cortex feed. "Most people would be experiencing more physical deterioration, if not dead outright. But you? You're practically the picture of health, despite the numerous factors that should have… how? I can't seem to find anything wrong with you. Medically speaking."

"So you think I'm just making this all up?" The gun hand growled low in his throat, standing to tower over the smaller man. "Because I assure you…"

"No, Jayne, it's obvious there's _something_ wrong with you," Simon held up his hands, his eyes twinkling at the double meaning. "Just not any medical issues that seem to be causing your situation."

"So… what _is_ wrong with him?" Mal jumped in before his mercenary took to pounding on his medic.

"I'm hoping the scan results will be more forthcoming – ah, there's the results now," he said, turning toward the softly chiming cortex connection. Sliding onto a high stool at the counter, he lapsed into intense concentration as the data flickered across the screen.

"So," Jayne said quietly, shrugging into his shirt and staring hard at the notebook in Mal's hand. "Seems this has been going on for a while now."

"Seems like," Mal answered back, holding the book out to him. Jayne eyed it, almost like it was a snake about to bite him, but eased a big hand over to take it. "She didn't wanna snitch, by the by. Was real important to her, keepin' yer secret for ya. Don't much like that she kept it quiet, but y'ought not hold it against her, dong ma?"

Jayne looked puzzled. "She who?"

"River. Said she offered to help ya out, but ya told her to mind her own business, more or less. Them sketches, that's her handiwork."

"She drew all of these?" Jayne asked with an impressed whistle. "So who are these folks at the back, then? People we deal with?"

"Couple looks familiarish, but there's a few, I ain't got a notion. May be that she could tell ya, but may not be, either."

The big man shot Mal a disbelieving look. "She drew them, didn't she? Unless I was describing them to her…"

The comlink crackled. "Mal?" Zoe's steady voice rang through the medbay. "You may want to head toward the bridge. Pretty soon. We got company."

"Be right there, Zoe," Mal answered back, turning to leave. "She prob'ly picked 'em up from your dreams. Said she'd been getting' them, was how she knew about yer troubles."

"My _dreams_?" Jayne scoffed. "Next you'll be telling me she's psychic."

The grin slid from his face when both Mal and Simon only shrugged.

"Mal, sooner's better than later," Zoe's tone, still smooth, had that hard edge Mal had come to dread, since it generally meant somebody was fixin' to make life less simple on his boat.

"On my way. Ta ma de, what now?" He swore, taking the back stairs two at a time. "Jayne?"

"Right with you, Captain." He answered from a few steps behind Mal. "Think it's the ones that ambushed us on the ground?"

"Could be. Might be any number of folks, but wouldn't lay money on it bein' anybody we care to see."

.~.~.~


	20. Chapter 20

Ghosts & Memories Past ~ Chapter 20

Disclaimer: Y'all know the deal by now. Nope, they ain't mine. Nope, ain't makin' coin off 'em. And yup, Joss is still Boss! Purely for fun, to satisfy the Muse…

Y'all Rock! Thanks so much for the continued interest and reviews for this story!

Special thanks to jellie_rayneluv for beta and excellent support!

Chapter Twenty – We Got Guests

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Aboard Transport _Serenity_ ~ In the Black

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"Who we got, Zoe?" Mal followed the first mate's glare out the window to the tiny dot, barely discernable from the stars against the Black, growing larger by the second.

"Scan lists it as a transport, but that's not the whole truth. Hailed us a few minutes ago, wants to speak to you direct," Zoe reported. "You'll recognize the smell from here, sir."

He swore as he glanced at the data feed. "Tommy Cho. Day just keeps gettin' better."

He knew Cho from long before his days as a smuggler and erstwhile bounty hunter. Tommy had signed up and fought as a Browncoat, sworn himself like all rest of them to the cause of freedom, to pulling the Independent worlds from under the Feds' heavy boot.

When Cho just up and disappeared near the end of the fighting, most everybody figured he'd got killed in one of the battles, or else was locked away in one of the fetid re-education camps. Then, lo an' behold, couple years after the War, up pops Cho, none the worse for wear, and running a fancy brand new rig.

Didn't take a mind-readin' prodigy to figure out who was puttin' the sauce on Cho's noodles. Weren't no proof, but around the time Cho emerged, more than one of their old compatriots just up and vanished. Die-hard Browncoats, men and women that got through the fighting and the camps in one piece, gone without so much as a vapor trail.

"Any chance he's just in the neighborhood?"

"Sure," Mal said as the com lit up again. "Great big sky out there, always a chance. But this is us we're talkin' of, so…"

"Bounty?"

"Bounty," Mal answered firmly. "Jayne, back up onto the landin', don't need him seein' yer pretty face, we can help it." Hitting the ship's intercom, he called River to the bridge and Kaylee to the engine room, startling when the slight girl answered from just behind him.

"Bwaaah! Ai ya tianna, River, make some noise! Creepin' up on folk like that's just…creepifyin'."

The pilot arched a dark brow at him, sliding gracefully into the seat. "Her presence was requested, yet he did not calculate that she would comply?"

"You gonna answer the piece of go se, sir," Zoe asked, her jaw set as she stared out at the other ship growing clearer through the viewport.

Mal sighed hard. "No sense bein' unfriendly. Might be able to get a few more answers, we play it right."

"Before or after Cho shoots us, sir?"

Mal glared at the first mate.

"Prefer the 'before', if I can get it," Mal answered. Both of them knew Cho didn't run a straight transport, no matter what the registry claimed. The cannon mounted topside got clearer as the distance ebbed. It was easy enough to dismantle and store when the smuggler made runs to the Border and Core, to avoid getting' confiscated by the authorities. Truth be known, Mal was pretty sure the Feds knew he had it, used it to their advantage when the man hired out as a black-list bounty hunter.

Nodding to River, he pasted a smile on as she opened the transmission and Cho's narrow face filled the vidscreen.

"Tommy! Bit far outta Persephone. What brings ya out to the middle of the Black?" Mal's asked in brightly conversational tone.

"Just out an' about, tryin' to do business like yourself, Reynolds," the man held his equally-forced smile as the gap between the two ships narrowed.

"Well, don't let us tie up yer time, then. Business waitin', an' all," Mal said, making as if to switch off the comlink, halting as the man held up a hand.

"Might be you could save me bitta time," Cho said quickly, glancing to a spot off screen with a nod he probably thought Mal didn't catch. "Lookin' for a man, fella stirred up a ruckus out Whitefall way. Heard you might know 'im."

"Do tell?" Mal asked, never losing his amiable smile while he signaled Zoe behind his back. Glad of the long-standing connection between them, he heard the first mate hustle down the corridor and toward the engine room. "What kinda ruckus this fella stir up?"

"The usual, shot up some folk, damaged some property of an upstandin' citizen, that sorta thing. Hear tell he runs with you. Name of Cobb."

Cho's smile slid as his ship closed in. "Don't generally give advance notice, seein' as criminal types tend to rabbit if ya do, but me an' you go back, Mal. Thought I'd make it easy on ya, an' that boatload of gals they say you fly with… for the old days."

"Figured that, didya?"

"We dock up nice an' easy, walk our boy Cobb over here nice an' gentle, no muss, no fuss. Everybody gets to eat supper tonight, dong ma? May even slide a bitta coin yer way for yer trouble. God knows them old Fireflies like yours are always needin' repairs."

"Well, the man is generally a pain in my pi gu, most days," Mal rubbed his chin as if considering the offer. "Then again, he's pretty handy to have around, for heavy liftin' an' the like. Reckon I'll havta hang onto him for the time-bein'."

Cho's face twisted into a mask of fury. "Shoulda known it'd be a waste of time, tryin' to play it straight with you, Mal. Don't even know what you got on yer piss-ant little boat, do ya? Them that's payin' for 'im, they're gonna get 'im. End of story."

Mal felt the anger roil up inside him, his word quiet but burning like ice on his tongue. "I don't turn on my own, Tommy, somethin' ya seem to have forgot. Ain't gonna change that just to make things easier on your 'clients'. What the hell ya jumpin' to the gorram Feds' whistle for anyhow? Yer coat was brown as any, once upona."

"Ruttin' hell, Mal, ya still think there's a right an' wrong to be had?" Cho choked out a bitter laugh. "Don't make spit a difference no more. Didn't take getting' shot up and beat down by them what's runnin' things, fore I come to my senses. But you ain't never gonna let it go, are ya?"

"Ain't gonna be their lapdog, if that's what ya mean. Takin' their coin ain't nothin' more than killin' folk out here. Folk like _yours_, Tommy. Like every one of our kin on Shadow, dust an' cinders cause the ruttin' Alliance." The bile rose in his throat at the memory of his whole world, turned to a black-rock by Alliance orders. "My ma an' yours both died that day cause of them, or did you forget that when they tossed ya their thirty pieces of silver?"

"An'starvin' cause I'm too ruttin' good to take payin' coin ain't gonna bring 'em back!" Cho hissed through his teeth. "Who the hell are you, judgin' _me_? No better than! Thief an' smuggler, with as much blood on yer hands as mine, 'cept yer still tryin' to fool yerself that ya got honor. Think yer smart, that ya know what's what, when ya ain't even got a clue who's really runnin' things. You wanna play noble hero over some gorram mercenary, it's yer ruttin' funeral!"

Mal slammed the com button off transmit and over to intercom as the cannon on Cho's ship lit up. "Hard burn now, Kaylee! Mashong! Everybody else strap in!"

"Mal, there's too much at risk here," Jayne said grimly as he entered the bridge from the landing. "Better for everyone if –"

"River, get us the hell outta here!" Mal's shouted over him. He gave Jayne a hard look as the man looked ready to mutiny. "This ain't open for discussion."

"It's not worth it, Mal! Putting everyone here in harm's way over me," Jayne gritted out, fists clenched at his sides. "They want me alive, else they'd have blasted us right off!"

"Ain't havin' this argument, Jayne," Mal growled back at him. "Get to the engine room, help Kaylee anyhow she needs it."

"He doesn't get what he wants, he's got no reason _not_ to fire!" Jayne's voice boomed through the bridge. He crossed the short distance in two long strides to loomed over Mal face to face. "You willing to risk that for Inara? Little Kaylee or Zoe or River? You asking _me_ to be the reason one of them gets hurt or killed, because I _won't_!"

"You forgettin' things an' all, might be why you ain't rememberin' _I'm in ruttin' charge!_" he snarled up at the merc, feeling his anger ease off a bit when anguish swept across Jayne's face. Mal struggled to calm his voice.

"Maybehaps I ain't the best of men, Jayne, but still got a few things I ain't willin' to do. Don't shoot nobody what ain't armed and lookin' for it. Don't steal from them can't afford it, or don't deserve it. An' I _don't_ turn my back on family. Not _never_. We clear on that?"

A certain amount of respect for that crossed Jayne's features, but Mal couldn't wait on convincing him not to do something stupid, if they were gonna outrun Cho. Considering it a done deal, he slid into the co-pilot's seat and strapped in.

"'Sides, ain't likely he'd let us just waltz away once he had ya, an' the rest of the crew'd prob'ly shoot me if I handed ya over. So, sooner you run back an' help Kaylee, sooner we're _all_ outta danger. Now I ain't askin', Jayne, I'm tellin' ya. Get yer stubborn ass to the engine room, and send Zoe back up here. That's an order."

For a split second, Mal thought he'd keep arguing, but the big man set his jaw and turned, his heavy boots thundering down the corridor toward the back of the boat.

River deftly maneuvered the ship out of the line of fire, cutting and shifting at unexpected angles as the other vessel took up pursuit.

"We done catchin' up with old friends?" Zoe remarked as she slipped into the third seat on the bridge. "Get anything off Cho?"

"Confirmed what we suspected," he tossed back over his shoulder, shoving back the pang of remorse conjured up by her sitting in that chair. Last time she'd been there, strapped in, bein' chased, Wash had been using his fancy skills to save their asses from Reavers and the Alliance. Last time she'd been strapped in that seat, she'd watched her husband die.

"Definitely the Feds, an' they want Jayne alive bad enough to try an' deal first, but scared of somethin' enough to shoot him outta the sky, us with him."

"Think we can outrun him?"

"Tommy runs heavy. Serenity ain't armed, but she's faster. We get past 'em, get to safe ground, maybe Simon can cipher out Jayne's problem, we get clear of all this."

"Safe ground. Good idea." The ship rocked as a blast from Cho's cannon exploded close to the hull. "And I'm sure ya got that all figured out. Right, sir?"

"Yeah, still workin' that out… first things first, let's get past Cho."

"Home." River's distracted voice drifted through the bridge as she steered Serenity into a hard bank.

"Howzat?"

"He must go home."

Mal snorted. "Naturally. Because the Feds wouldn't think to look there." He gripped the console to keep steady as River sharply altered trajectory to dodge a direct hit. "Bein' it's _home_ and all."

River smiled smugly. "Will not expect him to do what's expected."

"Does make sense, you think about it, Mal," Zoe added. "Jayne's not lived this long bein' foolish when it comes to stayin' alive. Reckon they figure he's smart enough to steer clear of home, thinkin' they'll be lookin' there first. The one place they probably ain't crawlin'."

"Huh." Mal studied that bit of logic for a second as River wove a seemingly haphazard path through the Black. "Reckon we're goin' visitin', then. After we get done with the getting' shot at business, of course."

"Of course, sir. Wouldn't want to spoil your fun." Serenity shuddered slightly as another blast came within range, and River shifted course again.

"We got enough fuel to get there without a stopover, Albatross?"

"Sufficient fuel for the journey, assuming continued evasive counter-trajectory, factoring hard burn for the next seven minutes, eighteen seconds…"

"That a yes?"

She shot him her 'don't be a boob' look. "Is what she just said."

Another, fainter shiver told of a last-ditch effort by Cho's gunner, but the screen showed the heavier ship falling back as River guided Serenity out of range.

"Well then," Mal settled back against the chair as Cho's ship disappeared from the scans. "Best everybody get spiffied up. Don't wanna make a bad impression on our big bad killer's Momma."

.~.~.~

To be continued…


	21. Chapter 21

Ghosts & Memories Past ~ Chapter 21

Disclaimer: Y'all know the deal by now. Nope, they ain't mine. Nope, ain't makin' coin off 'em. And yup, Joss is still Boss! Purely for fun, to satisfy the Muse…

Thanks so much for the continued interest and reviews for this story!

Thanks to Kuryakingirl for the rapid beta!

Chapter Twenty-One~

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Aboard Transport _Serenity_ ~ In the Black

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_The dining room is quiet, or what passes for quiet on a working spaceship. An almost subliminal thrumming hovers up from the back of the ship, where the engine cycles and turns, propelling them through the darkness toward the backwater moon they tell him is his home world._

_Every little while and again, a muffled string of words comes from that direction, the same tone used by a mother gently scolding a beloved child. He smiles, though even if he could make out what the feminine voice was uttering, he doubts he could translate it quickly enough to follow. Oriental languages were never his strong suit. _

_That glimmer of knowledge furrows his brow, and he wonders if it might be important enough to make note of. Never know what seemingly insignificant piece of data will turn out to be the lynchpin to finding his answers._

_For the first time since waking, he's alone. Just himself and his thoughts, and the thin, black hard-bound notebook in his hands. The warm, yellow walls surround him with their cheery hand-painted flowers, speak of hominess, family. In spite of everything, he takes comfort in the growing sense of belonging he feels here at the time-worn wooden table._

_He's surprised Mal isn't right here with him, or one of the others, keeping tabs on his every move, his every word. But once the girl lost the bounty hunter's ship, the captain had headed down to check on the doctor's progress. He wrestles with the idea of joining them, but this may be his only chance to dig into the pages without prying eyes watching his every reaction._

_If he was smart, he'd probably be with them in that room, listening for what's said and maybe what would be left glaringly unsaid because of his presence. If he's honest with himself, he'll admit that part is a bit worried about the truth. He can't make heads nor tails of the reasoning, but a quiet, persistent voice inside prods him, forces him to add up the pieces, to examine them like a stranger would. _

_Like the captain should. And likely is._

_Too many things point to dangerous conclusions, hint that maybe he really isn't all he'd appeared to be when he first hired on with Serenity. Damned if he knows what other purpose he might have had in joining the crew, if that is the case._

_The larger part of him strains impatiently to delve into the notes, the tome that supposedly contains his life. Mal already knows its contents, but if there's any reference or hidden suggestion that he's mixed in with these Alliance bastards, the captain's keeping that close to the vest._

_Regardless, Mal did stand firm to keep him from the bounty hunter. It had been a foolish risk, putting everyone else aboard in danger. Surely Mal would've handed him over if he'd seen anything overtly suspicious in the pages. Unless there was something damaging, and the captain felt safer not letting the Alliance have access to him. Keep your friends close… enemies closer, they say, whoever the hell 'they' are. He runs his thumb across the thin hard edge of the bound book._

_The first mate is on the bridge, vigilant, just a shout away, but far enough for now to give him privacy. He doesn't fool himself to think she's not listening for his footsteps through the corridor. The woman's a born soldier, always alert, wary, and still not entirely trusting of him, despite the fact she's eased off from the kill-stare. He wonders if this is a test to see what he'll do when there's no one hovering._

_River and Inara have headed off to their own quarters. Or so he assumes, until the unusual young woman appears at the entrance of the dining area._

_Barefoot and silent, she places one pale foot carefully, purposefully on the steps leading into the mess hall, then the other. Each footfall is fluidly precise, perfectly calculated in placement as she glides toward the far side of the table._

_He regards her silently for a moment, wondering if he should say something in the way of greeting, but decides to let her make the first overture. She's skittish, his earlier impression of a lithe, combat-ready young warrior out of sync with the scared-looking girl peeking at him from behind a dark wall of hair._

_Circling around to the distant end of the table, she keeps her head dipped low, as if she's not truly aware of him, but she is. She's hyper-alert, watching him warily as her fingers trail across the backs of the mess hall chairs. Biting her lip, she breaks the silence just as he's about to say something._

"_He won't remember it," she says in a small, sad voice._

"_Beg pardon?"_

_Her lips move silently, like she's trying the words on before letting them escape. He waits, and after some long moments is rewarded._

"_Somnambulant cycle nullifies the perception of his reality."_

_Sifting the words, he realizes her meaning. "I'll forget again when I sleep?"_

_She simply nods, still watching him with a look of pity laced with… was that guilt?_

"_I won't remember everything that's happened today after I wake again?"_

"_He postulates the correct theory."_

"_Are…are you sure?"_

_A tiny half-smile seems to fit her, unlike those dark, knowing eyes that he suspects have seen much too much to be as naïve as she appears._

"_Two-hundred twenty-six consecutive nocturnal cycles, sufficient data to predict results." A thin shoulder lifts in a shrug. "Fractional margin of error."_

_Two-hun – his breath catches as he quickly calculates the nights, approximately the eight months Mal had mentioned. "Every night."_

_She nods slowly while sliding softly into the chair farthest from him. "She is sorry."_

_Breath leaves his lungs in a rush as an icy numbness crawls up from his extremities. Stunned, he waves a hand in her direction, trying to absorb the news. "Not your fault."_

.~.~.~

"It is her fault. Did not fulfill her contractual obligation. Said she would keep the feline captured," she whispered. "Did not mean to let the beans run away."

"Wha- ?"

"They would not stay put," she said with a bit more force and the beginnings of what looked like tears. "Containment was promised, but she dropped the bag and the beans all scattered away and she could not put them back. Amiable relations are now endangered. She is sorry."

He couldn't say for sure, but judging from his reaction, he must be a real sucker for girl-tears and a trembling lip.

"Hey…hey, now…that's not…it's not your fault," he soothed, easing from the chair and edging toward her slowly for fear she'd bolt. If she knew anything about his predicament, he'd just as soon hear it without several other sets of ears listening in, and this was likely his only chance. If he scared her off, no telling when or if he'd have a chance to talk to her privately again. Not likely ever, if her brother's protective stance was any indication.

"C'mon, miss... River? It's River, right? No need to get upset. You obviously kept the feline in the beans… the cat in the bag, for what was it, two-hundred twenty-some days? That couldn't be easy."

Slipping into the seat nearest to her, he laid his hands on the table in her direction, palms flat to show he wasn't a threat.

"Can you tell me how you knew? Was it something I said?" He'd made that mistake several times tonight, but still hadn't gotten more than Simon's hysterical description of how he was apparently viewed by the rest.

She shook her head slightly. "No. Heard you."

"Heard me? But you said it wasn't something I said."

"Didn't say," she ventured. "Night visions. She tried not to hear, but Jayne's amplitude was too loud."

"Hmm." He nodded. "Talking in my sleep. Make sense."

"Jayne does not talk in his sleep," she said flatly. "Jayne does snore."

That numbing chill crawled through him again as he connected her implication with Mal's earlier comments.

"You… heard… my dreams?" One brow rose in doubt, even as hazy images began to filter across his mind.

_A room of people on their knees, hands behind their nervous heads. The girl stands relaxed and alert among them. Her pale, slender arm raises, points a finger to a man with heroic ideas behind his eyes. Zoe leans over the man with a few words. The calculating look on his face fades as he crouches back down with the others._

"Lilac," she whispered knowingly as he mouthed the word.

_In the same room, she cries out in fear, falls backward to the floor. He rushes to her, thinking she's passed out, but her eyes are wide open and dilated with fear._

"Reavers!"Their shared, desperate whisper echoes through the empty dining room, sends a shudder down the back of his neck.

_A broad sidewalk winds beside the pristine buildings of some large city, wide enough for a dozen men to walk shoulder-to-shoulder. The streets are empty except for the crew. Along the walkway, heaps of tattered clothing hang from the obvious remains of the people who lived here. Dead. Quit living. Just laid down and died. Laid down and let themselves die without a fight. Without a cry. Without a sound._

Jayne shoved away from the table, and dove for what he hoped was a trash can as his knees gave way and his stomach seized.

.~.~.

_He retches violently, on his knees with both arms braced against the wall. Images blare into his reeling mind in blindingly sharp relief, scenes he knows aren't just some macabre nightmare, images he can't shut off but that just kept rolling through his head like some horror flick littered with corpses and grotesquely mutilated, snarling faces that lunge and snap at him, reaching with jagged bloodstained nails to latch hold of him, of her, of all of them, drag them down to rend and rape and devour and shred –_

"_Jayne – " a soft whine cuts through the vertigo, pain and distress pleading with him, pulling him back to the dining room with such abruptness he nearly pukes again._

"_Aaghhh!" He chokes out, wishing like hell for the first time since he woke that he couldn't remember, couldn't see it played over and over in his mind. But every time he closes his eyes, the demons are there, and every time he opens them again, he's still drenched in the acrid tang of blood and lust and madness and the brimstone smell of gunsmoke from the hundreds of rounds he fires repeatedly into the horde that keeps pouring into the tight chamber and bullets speed past his head Zoe goes down among the dear God can't let her die like that wading in among them claws tear at his flesh but he grabs her and pulls her by one arm–_

"_Please Jayne," River moans weakly. "Must stop. Please, she doesn't want to see…doesn't want to feel…doesn't want to remember either."_

_He raises his head to see her through watering eyes. Her frail body shakes, tears stream down her cheeks as she whispers, "Doesn't want to be there again."_

_Nodding weakly, he forces his thoughts to abandon the nightmare, taking large, deep breaths, holding them and slowly releasing until he's able to halt the replay, forcibly directs his thoughts away. As his heartbeat slows, the effect on River is visible. In the aftermath of the violent memories, he barely registers any shock that the girl is psychic in some way._

"_So… so sorry, River," he wheezes as war boots pound down the corridor toward them. "Didn't know you could see… that you'd feel… Didn't know that I'd remember something… anything like… that."_

_He hangs his head, panting in exhaustion. "What. The hell. Was that?"_

_A light touch strokes his hair tentatively. "Miranda." She breathes the name like a curse, the shudder in her voice matching the one that shakes his whole frame. "Reavers."_

"_What… what are those… things?" He struggles to keep the bile down, squeezing his eyes tight against the images._

"_Monsters."_

"_No such thing as monsters," he offers her a doubtful smile, tries to steady the tremble in his throat._

"_Just men," he meets her eyes, determined to convince her so he can begin convincing himself. "Look like men. Just men. Crazed. Savage even. But men."_

"_You are wrong, brave paladin," she states in a quiet, knowing voice. "Here there be monsters."_

.

.~.~.~

To be continued… Reviews are manna. ;D


	22. Chapter 22

Ghosts & Memories Past ~ Chapter 22

Disclaimer: Y'all know the deal by now. Nope, they ain't mine. Nope, ain't makin' coin off 'em. And yup, Joss is still Boss! Purely for fun, to satisfy the Muse…

Thanks so much for the continued interest and reviews for this story! Y'all are the bests!

Many thanks to the wonderful KuryakinGirl for the superfast beta of this chapter.

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~Chapter Twenty-Two~

.~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~

Aboard Transport _Serenity_ ~ In the Black

.

.

Zoe bolted from the bridge, reaching to unfasten the strap on her mare's leg as a muted wail echoed up the corridor.

_Should have known, should have expected. Started to actually trust the hun dan. _

She'd seen River at the door of the mess hall, and knew everyone else was occupied. Thought to give Jayne a bit of leeway, see how he'd react to the girl when nobody was standing over them. Convinced herself Jayne had got past all the go se he'd hung onto about River and Simon and re-wards and 'fugees and all.

_Shows what trusting gets you_, she fumed, angry at herself for not keeping closer watch, and angrier at Jayne for disappointing her, and angriest of all for feeling that disappointment in the first place, when she should have _gorram known better_.

Charging down the hallway, Zoe braced herself, not sure what she would find or even what she expected. Memories of past confrontations flooded through her mind. None of the images bode well for a situation between the fierce-tempered merc with deadly aim and pure brute strength, and the crazy girl with an assassin's skills and a dancer's reflexes.

_River slicing Jayne with a butcher's knife, eyes as unruffled as a calm pond. Jayne backhanding the girl away from him, his face contorted in shock and pain and sudden flaring temper as blood gushed from his chest. River laying waste to an entire bar full of roughneck patrons. Jayne grim and determined, wading through a room full of bloodthirsty Reavers to drag herself to safety. Both were blooded warriors. Neither would back down from a fight._

Reaching the mess hall entry, the warrior woman had to grab the handrail at the landing, barely kept herself from finding a sudden seat on the steps as her legs stopped working. Anger and betrayal drained away from her as she took in the scene in front of her.

Jayne knelt on the floor, visibly shaking, clinging to the trash can like a life preserver, and River… River lightly stroked his bowed head with the tips of her fingers, a comforting angel with a pale face of sorrow.

"Once was lost. For now, is found," the girl stated in a soft voice, her haunted gaze briefly meeting the first mate's. Shaking her head slowly, River watched her own white hand as it caressed Jayne's sweat-darkened hair. "Lost and found. Found and still lost. Lost in the woods and the naughty owls waiting to eat up all the breadcrumbs. Must hide the crumbs under stones, keep them safe to pick up the trail at dawn's early light. Must not abandon the quest, must not stop looking for the Castle."

Without removing her hand from his head, River bent, straight-legged, at her waist until her face was level with the mercenary's, mere inches apart. "He must save the breadcrumbs now, to find his way, regain the quest on the morrow," she said with a clarity and a ferocity at odds with her words.

"Must find the Castle, put the bullets in order, sorted together old and new. The gun can't fire properly without both the old and the new. Both are part of him now, the Paladin will need his complete armory to save them all. To save himself."

Zoe shook her head to clear her mind and forced her legs to carry her closer to the strange scene. "River?" She swallowed, clearing the tremble of uncertainty from her throat. "Jayne?" Her breath caught as the gun-hand raised glistening cobalt eyes toward her, his absolute despair warring with his apparent attempts to regain control.

"Everybody all right in here?" She asked warily, letting the question fall heaviest toward River.

"Yeah," Jayne gasped, pushing himself to stand. Swiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he straightened his spine, though Zoe could still see the big man sway a bit. "Just a little walk down memory lane," he shrugged, throwing River a worried look. "You all right there, little lady?"

River sent him a wan smile. "She is as all right as she has ever been. Within parameters to the extent that 'all right' applies to her…me," she corrected. Leaning toward him, she gave a conspiratorial stage whisper. "This would be the point at which Jayne normally refutes her claim of normalcy."

"Hmph," he grunted with a closed-mouthed grin. "Then this would be the point at which Jayne's normally actin' like a jackass, right?"

The girl beamed at him, her dark eyes twinkling as she took in Zoe's stunned expression.

"Jayne actin' like a jackass?" Mal's voice boomed from the hallway just before he stepped through the door. "I'd say that means things our eerie-assed situation is headin' back toward normal. 'Cept for the part where Jayne admits to bein' a jackass, which means we're right back to the other side of bizarre."

"You besmirching my sweet and cuddly personality?" Jayne shot back, half trying to smooth the tension in the room, half trying to read past the strained expression Mal was trying hard to hide.

"Shaken, not stirred, extra olive added," River chimed, her head cocked to the side.

Zoe stared at River a moment before glancing to both men for understanding, and realizing they were as clueless as she.

With a huff and a roll of her eyes, River traipsed over to the food-prep area, ignoring them all as if she'd only just come for a bit to eat.

"Huh." Mal shrugged, dragging his attention away from the girl and back to Jayne and Zoe. "Jayne, you'll be wantin' to join us down in the medbay. Zoe, wouldn't be unwelcome, you to be there as well, get your thoughts on a thing or three."

Jayne sighed, rubbing a regretful thumb over the book in his hands as he gave a curt nod. Looked like his reading it would have to wait a bit more.

"River, would you…?" Mal paused on his way out, but River didn't bother looking up from her anxious examination of the evening's leftovers, still in the supper pot.

"Should not have olive mixed in with the bits, confuses the flavor of soup," she groused absently, poking a wooden spoon at the cooled bits of protein goulash stuck to the pot's side. "Need to extract the olive, recipe will be much improved. You will see, Captain."

Mal let his mouth snap shut, cutting off the invitation for her to join them. "Right, then. Well. You see to that olive… thing, an' we'll… we'll just be downstairs chattin' with your brother. Carry on, master chef."

One elegant black brow arched beneath the messy strands of her hair. "Don't be ridiculous, Captain. _Simon_ must deal with the olive. Obviously. She… I… may be a genius, but that hardly qualifies for such a delicate procedure."

Nodding slowly, Mal turned on his heel and beat a captainy, if still hasty, retreat to the medbay.

.~.~.~

"Doc, you got any cure for early senility in them cupboards?"

Simon dragged his focus from the vidscreen at Mal's appearance in the infirmary.

"Ummmm, nothing we'd have on hand, Captain." The young doctor mused as he returned to his study of the screen's fast-scrolling data. "Though I'm fairly certain my sister's condition can't be defined as 'senility', per se. I have, however, given that series of treatments a thorough, but brief, consideration. Why, what has she done this time?"

"No, no, no," Mal waved the question off, perching his long frame on the only stool in the room. "Your mei-mei is squirrely as a tree full of nuts, I'll grant ya, but it's my noggin I'm concerned over, Doc. I swear, that gal's makin' me age twice as fast as I oughta. I just wanna be prepared for the normal old folks ailments."

"So, stock up on adult diapers, next time we're dirtside, sir?"

Ignoring the mate's straight-faced snark, Mal waved Jayne toward the exam table. "Might wanna have a sit-down for this."

Jayne gave the flat surface a sour look, but slid past Zoe to lean up against the bed with his arms crossed and brow furrowed.

"You figure out what's wrong with me, Doc?" he asked after a moment. The quiet, level tone sapped any urge Simon had for a sarcastic retort. As he clamped his mouth shut, Zoe glimpsed the flurry of emotions roiling behind the doc's professional mask.

"I found _something_, Jayne, though I have to say," Simon paused, shaking his head to clear it. "It makes absolutely no sense. Something like this isn't even supposed to _exist_, at…at least not with the effectiveness…not without… and how you're still…" Simon threw his hands up. "I confess, I'm baffled."

"Well, Doc, I conjure that makes four of us right about now," Mal said, easing from his seat to stand facing the two men, arms mirroring the gun-hand's wary stance. "What kinda luh suh go se you goin' on about? There anything in Jayne's brainpan might cause concern… for him or for the rest my crew… you best be on with spittin' it out."

Simon glanced back and forth between the men, taking a long breath to gather his thoughts. "It's extraordinary, really," he began, almost enthusiastically, but sobered at the three matching confused scowls.

"I think I've found the reason for Jayne's memory loss. This," he pointed to a graph on the screen, "shows the brainwave activity during our testing. This established our baseline during the preliminary questioning, but here, in the frontal and temporal lobes, the activity is aberrational, coinciding with introduction of apparently unfamiliar data..."

"Captain- and crew- dummy-talk, Doc," Mal cut in.

Simon sighed. "This line here shows how his brain reacted to… things we know he knows. Right?" At their nods, he continued.

"This spiky reading here, where it jumps upward… occurred when he viewed pictures of people on this ship. People he has interacted with today. In short, people we're sure he's recognizing. But here…"

He pointed to a low point in the chart. "This happened when he saw the sketches that we weren't able to identify. People we may not know, and who Jayne may or may not know but obviously doesn't remember. And these corresponded with… with his seeing pictures of Wash and Book."

The green line dipped like it had for the 'unknowns', then rose sharply as it had with the 'known' photos. "He didn't remember, at first, but it came to him. Right?"

Mal sighed, "Don't see how none of that's terribly unusual-soundin'."

"Oh, by itself, it's quite what one would expect," Simon agreed. "But when you couple that batch of data with _this,_" his fingers flickered over the screen, and a different graphic replaced the first, "well, it's just really something I never expected to find!"

The three others stared at the new information for a long, silent moment.

Simon looked expectantly, and a bit excitedly, to each of them before huffing. "Don't you see? Right there, don't… oh, wait, my mistake," he laughed nervously, hands rushing over the vidscreen again. "Of course you don't, not… until… there!" He gestured triumphantly.

The two graphs they'd seen in turn were now merged.

"Doc, I see there's something going on between the two, but…" Zoe said hesitantly.

Mal sighed heavily. "Out with it."

"The second data shows… well, to be simple, there's some kind of… neural interruption, an almost… like a frequency jammer on a ship's comms… that the instruments picked up during the viewing of 'unknowns'. The dips in recognition correlate directly with the spikes in this… signal, for lack of better term. It's as if –"

Mal's face flushed. "As if somebody's deliberately trying to make my merc forget. Or usin' some sorta wave in his head. Am I about right on that?"

The doctor's complexion mirrored Mal's. "It would seem so, Captain. The only thing I can imagine causing these symptoms, backed with these results from the scans, would be some sort of device. But I haven't been able to locate anything of that sort, at least not with the scanners we have on board. If we had a neural-imager, perhaps… though I don't think we'll be able to sneak back into St. Lucy's."

"Jayne?" Mal rounded on the gun-hand, who had risen from leaning on the table to stand, but hadn't budged from his spot, nor taken eyes off the vidscreen. "You got anything you care to add on this topic?"

Zoe stayed where she was, feet firmly planted at the end of the exam table. The day had been bad for all of them, but she couldn't imagine what it had been like for him. Jayne had looked like he'd been dragged through nine hells before he'd come into the sickbay. But now all the color had drained out of him, his mouth hanging slightly open as he took slight, uneven breaths.

His loosely crossed arms slowly lowered toward his sides. Somebody nervous might have taken the movement as a slow reach for his gun, but Zoe saw it as exhaustion and a stunned reaction to Simon's discovery.

"Somebody trackin' him, or us, usin' his head?" Mal asked Simon directly. "Or maybe tryin' to send some kinda signal… maybe a kill signal, to take us down from the inside?"

"Not that I can see, Mal," Simon said. "The frequency is so faint, I nearly missed it. In fact, during every routine and post-mission exam I've ever given Jayne, I've missed it entirely. It's a very specific signature, one that wouldn't likely be found unless deliberately being sought. The signal's not strong enough to… well, it's barely strong enough to be detected through his skull by my medical equipment, and it's designed specifically to pick up such things. If I hadn't acquired these neural instruments for River back on Beaumonde, I'd doubt I could have found it at all."

"Are you sayin'," Jayne asked quietly, his voice barely above a rumble, "that this whole… thing… this was done deliberately? Someone's doing this to me on purpose?"

Simon studied the man before he answered, opting for directness. "Yes. That would seem to be the case, Jayne. Though for the life of me, I can't understand how it's even possible, not to mention the why…"

"Back to that for a minute, Doc," Mal cut in. "You said somethin' about it ain't supposed to be possible."

Simon sighed, tugging on his earlobe. "The idea for such technology is nearly as old as Earth-that-Was. You can, no doubt, recognize how controlling someone's ability to remember, to recognize certain things…"

"Alliance would give its collective left nut to have that kinda power," Mal spat. "Looks like maybehaps they found it."

"Doc, how could they manage something like this?" Zoe asked. "Have to be something they could –"

"Something inside the skull," Jayne said dully, still riveted to the overlaid graphs. "Something someone put in my head."

"Somebody, like maybe them Alliance medics our friendly Operative had patch us up after…" Mal didn't finish the thought, didn't have to. "Maybe slipped something in our Jayne here whilst we was all being 'cared for', figurin' he'd make a good test subject? If it works, they know where to find him to collect their guinea pig."

"And if it doesn't, no big loss, to the Feds," Zoe added. "Just another Rim rat with a scrambled brain. Kinda life we lead, won't no one think it odd if a mercenary goes bibbledy, or disappears."

"I considered that, at first," Simon said. "But no, I don't think so. No, if the Alliance had wanted to test the kind of technology we think we've found, they'd simply have nabbed Jayne then. Scientists want a controlled environment to study effects. Life in the Black is too unpredictable. How many times has Jayne been at risk of death from bullets, or malfunctioning equipment, or any number of uncontrollable factors?"

"So you're saying… earlier?" Zoe prompted.

"My guess, yes." Simon rubbed a hand down his face. "Which leads the question of when. And who. And, of course, how and why."

"So…" Mal shifted on his feet uncomfortably. "We still got no ruttin' idea of how to fix this."

"Mal, I'm not even sure what 'this' may be," the doc shrugged. "No one's ever been successful in creating a device that could cause this kind of memory loss."

"What about those rumors during the War?" Mal saw Zoe shudder at his words. "Heard rumblin's that the almighty Alliance had cooked up some such thing, was tryin' it out on prisoners of war. Course, it was likely just a cover for torturing and killing them farm boys in brown coats. Them what didn't die outright, sure to hell wished they had."

"Saw three of 'em myself, in the Camps. Them they whispered was testers," Zoe said grimly. "Not a sign of crazy among 'em, till they disappeared. Came back knocked out. Woke up droolin' and quiet. Till the screamin' started. Screechin', pullin' out their hair, and scratchin' at their own eyes like they were made of hot coals. Guards finally put 'em down with a bullet. A piece of mercy, I'd say. Only time I ever saw a Purple-Belly kill a Browncoat and wanted to thank him for it."

"I wouldn't be surprised," Simon agreed. "Anyone who's ever tried has only produced disastrous results. Subjects die, and that's the best case scenario. The rest… most are the mental equivalent of a black rock planet. The worst of them go so insane, they make what the Academy did to River look like a pleasure cruise on Osiris. Either way, all previous known attempts at this kind of mental control have been abysmal failures."

"Did you find it?" The question brought their attention to the big man who'd been mostly quiet, but whose demeanor grew more intense with each moment. "The device. The trigger. The goddam thing in my head causing all this? Did. You. Find. It?"

Jayne never raised his voice above a low rumble, but not one in the room misread the simmering anger and fear in his tone.

"No. Not yet," Simon answered evenly. "But now that I have this data, I have an idea of where to look. And what to look for."

"We gonna need to swing by a more advanced medical facility –" Mal started.

"Get. It. Out." Jayne seethed, his jaw and fists clenched as he stepped into Simon's space, looming over the thinner man. "Get whatever this fuckin' thing is out of my head. I don't care how. Just see it gets done, Simon. I ain't gonna be used against… against nobody, not of my own free will, understood?"

"I will do everything I possibly can, Jayne," Simon met the merc's glare, his face still neutral, but his chin jutting out. "But that kind of procedure requires better facilities than we have here. Specific equipment for neural surgery. The signal originates in parts of your brain that would make such an attempt here… well, I cannot risk operating here. And I will not. Don't ask me to try."

For all the Doc's proper and soft-spoken ways, Zoe recognized the young man's determined streak. Not too many she'd met had the spine to stand up to Jayne, especially when the six-foot-four, walking mountain of a man had fire in his eyes.

Here was the rich boy who'd given up the safety of polite society, risked everything to rescue his sister from hell. Gone from a pampered life of the best the Core had to offer, to scraping together a life on the fringe of the Black, and making a place for them both in it. If only all his fancy folks could see him now, standing toe to toe with one of the most lethal men in the spinning 'verse.

"Ain't nobody cuttin' into nobody else's head today, an' I mean that!" Mal ordered, stepping between the two. "Not 'till we know fer certain it's a threat, and fer certain what we're lookin' for, and not 'till we got us the proper set-up for it. Ain't lookin' to replace ya anytime soon, Jayne, dong ma? An' I know ya don't want yer blood on Simon's conscience if it ain't gotta be."

Jayne backed away, but he held Simon's attention with a determined stare. "Your word, Simon. You'll get whatever it is out of me. Or you'll make sure it doesn't function anymore, that it's not going to be used to hurt the crew. However that has to happen. Swear it."

"I'm not going to kill you, if that's what you're getting at," Simon retorted. "We'll find it. I'll do everything in my power to remove or neutralize it. But if I can't…"

"I'll see it done, it comes to that."

The three men stilled, turning as one to Zoe. Simon and Mal wore the same stunned expression, but Jayne met her with a visible relief. "Thanks, Zoe," he whispered.

"But only if there ain't no other way," she warned sternly. "If it turns out to be a danger, and Simon can't fix it, I'll… I'll back you up. You have my word."

Jayne nodded. "Appreciate that, Zoe."

With a curt nod, she turned on her heel and headed through the cargo bay to the bridge. Flashes of the three mind-scrambled browncoats flared in her memory with each step she took. Jayne wouldn't want to live like that. She wouldn't want him to have to endure the kind of agony those poor kids had suffered.

_Buddha help him, if it comes to it_, she prayed. _In fact, if you're listening, let's not let it come to that at all._

.~.~.~

River was leaned back in the pilot's seat, feet elegantly crossed on the console, staring out at the stars.

"Three days, fourteen hours, eleven minutes to Meade," she stated without turning around.

"What? You don't have the seconds calculated?" Zoe teased, her voice much less heavy than her mind.

River cast her a sideways glance. "Makes the crew look at her strange when she is so precise. She is… I am, trying to fit the pieces with more symmetry."

Zoe chuckled, sliding into the second seat at the helm. "I wouldn't worry about that none, Mei-Mei. Kinda got used to the specifics. Never know when they'll come in handy."

River's broad smile nearly lit up the room. "And six seconds," she added. "Four, now." She leaned to the intercom.

"Simon?"

"Yes, River."

"Is Jayne still in your lair?"

Zoe heard the exasperated sigh, and the other men's light chuckles at River's description. "Yes, River, he and the captain are both still captives in my lair. Shall I give a dastardly laugh?"

"No need, Gei-Gei, but you must tell him to save the crumbs."

"Crumbs."

"Yes, it is most critical for his quest. Jayne, are you listening?"

"Ummm… yes, River? Crumbs. Got it. Thanks."

River sighed with disappointment, slumping back into the seat. "He has not got it at all. He must secure the crumbs or the owls will steal them away. She has told him several times now, but fears he will not take her warning to heart. How can she make it clear?"

"What crumbs are you worried about, River?" It was the second time Zoe'd heard the girl go on about crumbs and owls and quests. Had to be important somehow.

"The crumbs he has found. He must protect them, else start all over at the dawning. He has no other compass than his symbol."

"His sym- his book? You mean his book with the notes and the sketches, right?"

"Yes!" River said emphatically. "She has been trying to remind him, but he will forget the crumbs and then he will have to search for them all over again before his path will be clear. You tell him, Zoe. He will listen to the Knight, but may think the Jester just a fool."

Zoe let the information process for a minute, River's meaning forming around in her mind.

"Exactly!" the girl beamed again, picking up on her train of thought. "You will remind him? Make sure the Paladin saves his crumbs for tomorrow's journey?"

"Yes, little Jester," Zoe laughed, rising from the seat. "I'll tell Jayne to be sure and write down his crumbs in his book before he bunks down."

The girl relaxed, propping her dainty feet back up on the control board, monitoring the ship's progress to Jayne's homeworld of Meade. The backwater moon was one of the farthest from the Core, and little if any traffic would likely come within sensor range.

Nonetheless, Mal had directed the girl to find the fastest route they dared, while avoiding any passing eyes. With any good luck, Mother Cobb could fill in the gaps, shed some light on when or where or how her son might have got a Fed memory contraption plunked into his head.

Zoe grimaced, hoping Mal's special brand of luck wasn't contagious.

.~.~.~

To be continued….


	23. Chapter 23

Ghosts & Memories Past ~ Chapter 23

Disclaimer: Y'all know the deal by now. Nope, they ain't mine. Nope, ain't makin' coin off 'em. And yup, Joss is still Boss! Purely for fun, to satisfy the Muse…

Special thanks to Jellie_RayneLuv for the beta! Much obliged, Evil Triplet!

Chapter Twenty-Three

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~Meade, Moon homeworld on the Rim~

_Can't move._

_Arms and chest, hips and legs strain against wide straps that pin him to the cold, unyielding surface. Sinew muscle joints unable to break the bonds. Steel gripping wrists and ankles too tight. Strength has failed him. Would laugh, but it hurts too much, sound and air scraping along his throat._

_Head feels like it's crushed in a vise, thick bands biting into his forehead, holding it in the heavy metal framework that he can see in his peripheral vision. _

_Body aches all over, sickly-weak ache. Thoughts grate and slither against the inside of his skull. _

_So damned cold. Frigid, infiltrates him from somewhere in his arm, needle jabbed and taped, adhesive clawing and itching his skin. Heart should be racing, hundred miles an hour. Can't. Ice-water forced into his veins slows the thumping, slows the thinking. _

_Craves sleep. Afraid. Won't wake up. Who will do the job, if he doesn't wake up? Where the hell is backup? Should be here. Days, weeks, can't say, gone, had time, rescue op, the kid has failed him, but hasn't, cause the kid stays safe. Primary objective protect, defend, sacrifice if need be, kid must be protected, any and all cost, can't fail, can't let them have the kid or it's all for shit._

_Something going on, something very, very bad. He struggles to line the pieces up in some proper formation, but the straggling bits and pieces of intel just won't march straight. Have to tell Drill about that, shape 'em up, ship 'em out. Make the jumbled train of thoughts form rank and file dress right dress can't get 'em straightened out where the hell's the team?_

_Door opens. Medical scrubs, long white jacket, woman's face staring into his, too damned close, not close enough. Blonde, hawk features, pretty though, he'd do 'er, likes the cut of her jib, he should know her, knows he knows her, can't bring the thoughts into formation. _

_Backup. Blondie, but not his team's Blondie. Ally, sort of, but not team. Opens his mouth to tell her to call them, call central command, call the general, call the cavalry, call…_

_She flinches back from him, from the hoarse, raw cry where his word are supposed to be. Fierce blue eyes slip, let pity live in them for just a heartbeat, gone now, resolve, intent in its place. Serious. On task. Pro. By the book. Still can't pull her name from his files. She leans close to his ear, whispers of plans and extrications and switched charts and her low, sultry voice pierces his eardrums, all a jumble._

_She stops. He's thankful. Hurts like hell, thoughts and verbs and plans crawling across his ear's nerves. She spins away from him, alert. Watches her at the edge of his vision, blurry, hands work at the thin clear line that's pushing ice into his vein. Sudden, blessed warmth floods through him, lingers a breath, fades back to cold._

_Blondie leans close, wet, sweet kiss to his jaw, evaporates. She's gone._

_Door opens. Hard shoes echo on tile. Medical scrubs, long white jacket, man's face staring into his, too damned close. So close he could count pores on the nose. Weasel. Ferret? Hard eyes, all data and results and no consequences. Plastic fingers poke, prod, probe his aching head. Long words confusing, his wounded mind deciphers them best it can: incision, hippos on campus, sorry braille, receptive, fail._

_He knows that word. Fail. Hasn't passed the test. Not good enough. Sent home. Disgraced. Not another second chance. Only so many second chances, he's had more than his share already._

_Hard eyes swerve to the door, scared rabbit grabs paper, discs, runs. Loud thump from somewhere far off. In the field, bivouacked, he'd have said distant ordinance. But he wasn't in the field. Was he? _

_Another boom, closer. Shakes the white walls, bright lights flicker, damn it can't someone just turn off the damned bright lights, pungent odor of antiseptic. What the hell kinda war zone was this, anyhow? _

_Thunder sound, loud and rolling and so close he wants to reach his hand out to touch it. The slab he's on shudders underneath him, sends jolts of pain throughout his battered body. Somehow, though, all the bruises and cuts and burns don't feel quite as bad. Still hurt like hell, but less intense. The guttural choke from the back of his throat was meant to be a laugh. Even that didn't hurt so much now. Time must be short, he mused. First the cold, then no more feeling. Well, not quite to that point, yet, and if death didn't hurry along, whoever was shelling the place was going to help him meet it halfway. His mind has cleared just enough to identify the blasts as bombing._

_Next one's gonna be the one, he thinks, trying to count the seconds between the blasts. Getting out of here. One way or another. Hope Blondie made it out safe. He'd wanted to get past first base with her, past last names, if he can ever remember her last name. Too late for that now, anyway. Some niggling finger in his brain tells him it's much, much too late, so much later than he knows._

_His eyelids grow heavy, too heavy for his will to keep them open one second longer. He struggles against the encroaching darkness, forcing himself to focus on the ringing. Categorize the sound, try to figure what's making it. Metal on metal. Tinny ringing in his head won't stop. Damn. No heroic last words. No grand exit. Shit. Doesn't want the last thing he hears before dying to be some damned alarm clock._

.~.~.~.~.~

_He wakes to darkness, feeling the web of dreams still wrapped around his mind, though the slippery fingers of night loosen their fragile grip on his thoughts._

_Every fiber of his being stills in the blackness as he adjusts to the sounds and aromas of his surroundings. Instantly alert, he focuses on the sound of his own breathing, deep, full, resonating in his chest._

_A soft chatter from somewhere, voices low and constant, reassuring. He can almost, but not quite, place the source of the sounds, like a murmuring that has soaked into his bones, become twined up inside, part of him now._

_A faint ticking repeats, soft and rhythmic nearby. Faint green light of a rounded clock face, hands on a dial pointing to a mix of I's and V's and X's. Numbers._

_His mouth silently tastes the words, as he deciphers their pattern and code. 'Five hours. Thirty minutes.'_

_Reaching over to the mechanical timepiece, he slides the alarm lever to 'off' before the ringers have a chance to strike. He's never needed the help waking, not here. Not really sure how he knows that, or where 'here' is, but he knows that he knows this place._

_He scans the area by the faint light seeping through a window. A room, small, not too tight; comfortable bed, worn cotton sheets that small of clover and sunshine. Plain but sturdy wooden table by the bed. Dresser across the room. His room, the thought flits across his mind. _

_Women on the walls, some curvaceous, and some long and lean. Varying amounts of covering, but each of them beautiful in her own light. He feels his body respond, blood rushing toward the tightening sensation beneath the hand-stitched quilt. _

_Faint bulge beneath the stuffing under his head. His girls, he thinks automatically, lifting the fluffy, down-filled pillow. Curves and gleaming hard lines, just as beautiful to his mind as the blondes and brunettes adorning the walls. They have names, his hard girls. He caresses one, then the other, whispers the name of each of them by the dawn's first blush, grateful for their faithful presence._

_Eyes adjust in the growing brightness. He pushes himself off the bed, feet hit cool hard wood. He glances at the time keeper again. "Five thirty-five," he murmurs, voice deep and a bit gruff. _

_Something laying beside the clock. Book. Long fingers gingerly lift the scribbled note laying on top. _

"_Read me before you do anything else. Anything. Do it now!"_

_Flipping to the first page, he quickly scans the words, torn between absorbing every letter and thought, or rushing through to discover the source of those mouthwatering smells drifting into the room._

"_Your name is Jayne Cobb. Don't ask. You're a bad-ass mercenary, so not too many folk give you shit about the name…"_

_.~.~.~.  
_

"And so I says to 'im, 'Might wanna make sure whose turn it was ta cook before ya shovel it in, next time!'"

A chorus of hearty laughs erupted around the long kitchen table. Jayne let the sound wash over him, closing his eyes and smiling as he stuffed another hunk of butter and sorghum-drenched biscuit into his mouth.

"Doc might be a fine fella when it comes time to fix what ails ya," Zoe explained. "But if it's his turn in the kitchen, it's just as likely you'll be needing his services after you've ate."

Laughing green eyes twinkled at the telling, the soft skin around them crinkling with laughter and years. Jayne couldn't help staring over at her, watching the way the light from the window sparkled off her snow white hair all during the mighty fine breakfast she'd made for him and the captain and the first mate.

Mother. He let the word skip across his brain and fill up the farthest corners of his chest. Mother. And little Brother. He had family, something to tie him to… well, to something. It was downright unsettling to wake up, not know who the good gorram you was. Kinda like you were alone in the 'verse, no matter how many folks was around you. But he wasn't alone. He had family.

Two families, if the notes were to be believed. Weren't no reason not to believe them, he'd wrote the book himself, and he'd proved that much. Took a minute to find a pen, but he'd found one, and wrote a few lines on back of that note to himself. Sure enough, the handwriting matched up close enough to know it was his own.

Not a soul had mentioned it when he sat down at the table, but he figured his per-dicament was as much on their minds as it was his. Awful glad he'd wrote himself that reminder, made ruttin' sure he'd learned up on what was what before he just ran around looking to find his own name.

"It's good you have a decent doctor on that ship of yours, Captain Reynolds," she said with an approving pat on Mal's hand across the table. "It lets an old woman sleep a little bit easier, knowin' there's somebody to look after her boy, if somethin' unfortunate was to happen."

Mal beamed a charming smile back at her, "He's pretty decent, at that, Mrs. Cobb. Graduated top three percent at that fancy MedAcad."

"Yeah, an' he don't never let us forget it, neither," Jayne teased, then took her smaller hand in his. It looked so tiny and frail next to his big, callused working-man's hand, but he knew hers had been no stranger to a hard day's work. "Don't you be frettin' none over me whilst I'm out there in the Black, Mother. Mal runs a tight ship, and Simon's always there to stitch me up when I don't watch where I'm walkin'."

Those light emerald eyes grew serious. "Jayne, son, you don't have to pretend it away from me. I know full well what goes on out there, and I know what kinda life y'all hafta live to make ends meet sometimes," she said simply, turning her hand to lace her fingers between his.

"And I ain't no ruttin' fool, neither. Know what a man like you can help out with, how he's needed on a ship like yourn. It's a hard 'verse out there. Folks'll take what you got, leave ya nothin', not even yer blood, they want it bad enough." She rapped the back of his hand lightly. "An' don't you be tryin' to lie to yer Mother, now. Don't hafta pretty it up on my account. I lived the Rim all my days, boy. Seen a sight more than most folk, I reckon, and more than I ever cared to, a bit of it."

"Mother, " he started to soothe her, but she squeezed his hand in hers, stoutly for a small woman of her years.

"Just hush up, now an' listen to me, Jayne," she said in a voice that left no room for disobeying. "I know you got troubles followin' you. Don't know what, exactly, but I got my notions."

"How did – "

"Mrs. Cobb, have there been suspicious folk coming around – " Mal sat up, suddenly wary.

"Knowed it was just a matter of time before they found you, came after you." Her face grew sharp and intent. "Was why I sent you out to the Black, to keep you safe, though I know you don't recall that right now. Don't know what all's happened to you between then and now, son, but you used to know that, and it's plain as day that you don't now. Can't say if it was that Alliance-made hellhole y'all found out about, that Meringa, or whatever – "

"Miranda…" all three of the crew answered at the same time, not one of them more than just a murmur.

"Saw that wave y'all sent out, with that woman what told 'em about it. Or tried to…" her voice drifted off respectfully. "Saw yer handsome face on the broadwave, too, and all y'all's. And if I seen 'em here, on a backwater like Meade… well you can lay good money that any what was after you seen too."

"Ma'am, who do you think it is, after your son?" Zoe asked.

Radiant Cobb gave a weary sigh as she wrapped her other hand atop Jayne's. The struggle inside her was clear as day to any that looked, and it was making Jayne mighty uncomfortable. "That there's a long, long story. One I near figured I'd never have to tell."

"Mother?" Jayne said quiet, trying hard to stomp down the growing fear inside him. She was scared. Not just of them what was after him, though the fact somebody was worrying his Mother made him just want to go shoot the hundans in the face a few good times.

No, the anxious look on her face showed him something he didn't ever want to see: she was scared of him. A sickly twist rolled through him. Didn't want her to be scared of him, never wanted her to be afraid of her Jayne. She didn't want to tell the story, that much he could see right off.

"Mother?" he whispered fearfully, fighting hard to keep the burning in his eyes from letting loose. "Mamma? Don't you be scared, now. Ain't nothin' ya could say would ever… I don't know what it is you have to tell, but don't you worry I'm gonna do nothin' stupid, all right?"

"Oh, my sweet Jayne, no," she fretted, coming around the table to where he sat. Wrapping her thin arms around his broad shoulders, she pressed a kiss to his temple. "I ain't afraid of you, dear boy." She stared down into his eyes, her own green ones carrying more worry than he ever wanted to see there.

"I ain't afraid of what you'll do once you know," she said, shaking her head sadly. He reached up a big hand and gently brushed the tear that rolled down her soft cheek. "I'm afraid of what the knowin' will do _to_ you."

A chill drifted up his spine. What could be so gorram bad it'd make her cry over his finding out?

The whole kitchen had started to wobble a little bit, and Jayne squeezed his eyes tight, focusing on the light crackling sound of the wood-burning stove. The light, sweet smoke filled the house, a scent both familiar and comforting. If he kept his eyes shut, and thought really hard, maybe this would all have been some bad gorram nightmare.

Jayne felt his mother lean her thin body into him for support. Wrapping his arms around her, he let his pounding head rest a moment against her stomach. How many times as a child had she held him like this? He tried to pull a memory from those long-ago days, but the images weren't cooperating.

For a moment, brief and blessed, he could almost believe he'd never left. Never gone a-space at all. Just stayed here with Mother and Mattie and worked the farm and hunted the hills behind the house.

_An image flits across his mind, a small cabin hidden in the trees, Mattie smiling over at him as he took down a huge buck at a distance. _

_And another, Mother hauling in a basket full of beans from the garden, the midday sun catching the silver in her hair beneath the wide-brimmed hat._

_And still yet… a pretty dark-haired woman in a neatly-pressed dress, offering him a mug of ale while they all danced over by the barn. _

_Walking home from the hunt, following the scent of the family's cookstove down the hill. Angry shouts as he comes down from the cabin, a brace of hares in one hand, his rifle in the other. Men in uniforms ordering his family out of the house. Mother holds out the bitty amount of coin they'd saved up from the crops and the horses and the hunting. More yelling, and one of them looks to Mattie. He crouches low as he watches his brother trying to negotiate with the man, creeps around the barn. Mother always said be careful. _

_Little man with a big hat saying how Mattie'd make a fine addition to the ranks, join the Alliance, do his duty. Ruttin' fool can't know Mattie's got lung troubles ever since he nearly drowned. Can't keep his breath too long, gets damp lung every year just about. _

_Chief Little Big Hat don't seem to care. Grabs Mattie by the arm, throws him down, shoves a gun in his face, yells about bein' a traitor or a coward and which is it, boy? Mother screams, tries to get in betwixt them. One of the chief's men shoves her hard, she falls._

_Jayne sees red. Shouldering the rifle, he takes quick aim, takes down the one that shoved her and one more of the seven before they know he's even there. Through the barn, out the other side, picks of another one as he dives behind the smokehouse. Mattie's knocked the gun away from the one threatening him, gives the hundan a good right punch in the mouth. His brother runs to Mother, pulls her fast into the house. Jayne hears the latch fall, his loved ones safe inside. Pulling the long knife from its sheath at his back, he lets a grim smile claim his face._

_Time to hunt bigger game._

.~.~.~

To be continued… reviews are love! ;D


	24. Chapter 24

Ghosts & Memories Past ~ Chapter 24

Disclaimer: Y'all know the deal by now. Nope, they ain't mine. Nope, ain't makin' coin off 'em. And yup, Joss is still Boss! Purely for fun, to satisfy the Muse…

Thanks to JellieRayneLuv & Kuryakingirl for the betas and support. Much thanks to everyone following this tale, and for the wonderful reviews.

Additional apologies to all reviewers I haven't had a chance to answer yet, and for the delay in update… real life, etal. Hope to make the next one a bit quicker… thanks for sticking with our forgetful merc and company! ;D

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Chapter Twenty-Four

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~Meade, Moon homeworld on the Rim~

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"All started eight year ago this past spring…"

Mother Cobb took a deep, fluttery breath, pausing to sip from her plain brown mug as she stared out the window. The winter sun cut a bright swath across the braided rug on the floor, but no one in the cozy living room seemed to notice the cheery attempt at warmth.

Even Mal edged closer to the stone fireplace, kneeling down to poke the coals, though Zoe recognized it as less of a reaction to the chill and more of an attempt to channel his discomfort at not being with his ship. Serenity was hiding in orbit around Meade while he, Zoe and Jayne were all dirt-side. He'd calmed just a fraction when he checked in with Inara just moments ago, but that wouldn't hold him for long.

Inara had been antsy as well, though it was hard to tell with the former Companion's carefully schooled composure. Zoe guessed she probably hadn't slept a wink since she'd dropped the three of them off and returned the shuttle to Serenity. That had been a fight.

Inara balked at leaving them without means for escape flight, but Mal pointed out the shuttle would tip of the Feds, or anyone else that may be watching the homestead. Plus, he'd argued, with Inara, River, Doc and Kaylee still aboard the ship, not only were they out of harm's way, it left somebody to mount a rescue if things turned bad down here.

Jayne sat slumped forward on the sofa, nearest to his mother's wing-back chair, elbows braced on his knees. His large hands slid up and down his cheeks, his shoulders sagging a bit. From the worried frown on his brow, he was still trying to work his mind around the memories he'd just found. Zoe had an unexpected image of owls and crumbs and olives. He'd still need to write all this down, keep it in his journal, despite how painful the discoveries were.

And from the look on Mother Cobb's weary face, whatever it was she had to say was likely to be pretty painful.

Zoe felt a shiver run down her arms. Resisting the urge to pull the knit throw off the back of the small sofa and wrap it around her shoulders, she straightened her spine a bit, and focused instead on the big man sitting a few hands-lengths from her on the other end.

Until a few days ago, Jayne was an open book to all of them, and the story a fairly simple one at that. Now, it seemed the only one who really knew him was looking worried as she studied the snow clouds gathering over the distant ridges. Jayne's brother Mattie was out there, not due back from his three-day hunt until early evening. The past night's snow had laid a light blanket over the fields past the barn, already settled by the time they'd arrived in the wee hours. The dark sky looming closer over the mountaintops promised several inches, if not feet of the heavy, wet snow typical for these parts.

Zoe kept a watchful eye on the elder woman, subtly looking for any off coloring or pallor or such. For a woman who'd borne and raised two boys on a farm on the Rim, Radiant Cobb looked to be in excellent health. But given her eldest son's luck over the past bit, Zoe didn't want to be unprepared if the tale became too much for his mother. Last thing Jayne needed on top of everything else was to see his lovin' momma drop over from a heart attack right there in front of him.

The stuffed wingchair seemed to swallow the petite, elderly woman, making the first mate wonder how such a dainty, frail looking thing could have produced a child that would grow into a burly giant like Jayne. The captures on the mantle showed he was considerably broader than the slender young man portrayed there with him. She knew Mattie was younger, though it was hard to tell how much younger.

The captures couldn't have been taken too many years back, though. Jayne didn't look much different in them than he did now. Maybe Mattie had filled out since then, like Jayne had. Something about the portraits in those neatly arranged frames was nagging at the back of her mind, but Zoe couldn't single it out.

Jayne looked to his mother, like he was trying to get a hold on the time. "That what I remembered… them men who came and tried to shoot you an' Mattie, that was eight year ago?"

"No, Jayne-dear," she shook her head sadly, tears making her eyes bright. She nervously pressed her hand against the crisp gingham material of her dress, as if smoothing out the imaginary wrinkles.

"That weren't but four year ago, son. Was when you had to leave us, go off-planet. Round 'bout that time, the 'Lliance decided to act like they give a damn bout us Rim folk. Tried makin' a 'presence' with troops an' garrisons an' whatnot out this far. Said it was to provide security and all, but weren't nothin' more than spyin' on folk, tryin' to keep us under their Core heel."

"Sounds like the Alliance," Mal snorted. "Actin' like they care, cause they know so much better than regular folk how life oughta be lived. Don't do nothin' but get in the way of things. 'Cept when they could be of some actual use to the folk. Can't find hair nor yellow hide of them then."

Mrs. Cobb nodded ruefully, "Too true, Cap'n. They ain't got no notion how we've lived out here all these years without them. Cain't even imagine we don't need and surely don't _want_ their 'help'. An' all them dandies they get to sign on, big volunteers from Londinium and Ariel and Osiris? Well, ain't a one a them fancy fellas wants to be stuck out here in the uncivilized end of the 'verse. Enough of 'em's got high-fallutin' families, they can buy their way outta service on the Rim. So, Feds hafta fill their garrisons elseways."

"Conscripts," Zoe spat.

"Conscripts," she nodded. "An' convicts. An' endentureds whose contracts got sold to the Alliance for coin. Ain't quite the fine upstandin' image of the duty-an'-honor-filled young men they prance about in the cortex waves, now is it?"

"They were gonna take Mattie," Jayne growled quietly. "They was just gonna take 'im. Haul 'im off in chains like some criminal. When he ain't never been inta no trouble. It ain't right. An' ain't no damned body shoves my mother, that son of a wh – "

"Jayne!" The soft green eyes sharpened, chiding his near slip of language.

"Sorry, Mother," Jayne answered without hesitation. Zoe bit back a smile at the image of the big, mean mercenary held in check by a word from a bitty little old lady. Course, even big, mean mercenaries loved their mommas.

"He's right, though," Mother shook her head sadly. "Came sniffin' round these hills on the pretense of lookin' in on us. Seein' to our welfare. They was quick to ask after able-bodied men, but didn't give one second to look in the grain bins, or to see if we had firewood or coal or food stores for the hard winter comin'. Weren't naught but an excuse to haul Mattie off an' try to make a purple belly outta him. They'da flat peed their britches, had they seen you first, Jayne. Half a head taller'n Mattie, and forty pounds of muscle heavier… thank all heavens they never saw ya comin' boy."

"Weren't but seven of them, an' not one of them knowed I was there," Jayne said, telling Mal and Zoe about the scene from his memory. "I'd been up the mountain on a hunt, got a couple of hares an' a buck I had to leave up to the cabin. Didn't 'spect I'd find one so early in the year but he jumped up outta the bushes sudden-like, and I took him down. Y'all know well as I do, food comes to yer doorstep, ya don't turn it away."

"I come down the mountain to get one of the horses, to haul the buck back home an' dress him out proper. But when I come through the trees, I heard 'em all yellin'. So I snuck up through the barn."

Jayne's face grew stormy, and Zoe recognized the look. It was the same determined, controlled anger he'd worn when they'd stormed Niska's skylab to get Mal back. The same he'd worn facing the horde of Reavers that had nearly done them all in.

"Seven of 'em, an' the boss leader pokin' his gun in Mattie's face, callin' him a coward and a turncoat and threatenin' to take him off, make him serve in the Fed garrison. Mother tried to stop them, but one of the bastards… begpardon, Mother, but they was… threw her down on the ground. I shot him an' another, and Mattie was able to get Mother in the house."

He stopped there, seeming to mull over the memories, glancing every few moments at his mother.

"So you killed two Feds, an' had to go on the run, then," Mal nodded. "Ain't so particular odd. A man can only take so much of his family bein' shoved around afore he shoves back."

"Weren't just the two," Mother said quietly. "Was all seven. The two was just with the rifle. They all split up, lookin' for who was shootin', but my Jayne, he was smart. Knew they'd follow the next shot an' all gang up on him, so he let 'em break off. Took 'em one at a time with that big huntin' knife of my husband's, God rest his soul."

Mal looked a bit impressed, though both he and Zoe had seen the man take on a large number of attackers and still come out on top. But seven trained Feds, and five of them with nothing but stealth and a knife? The soldier in Zoe had to respect the level of skill that took.

"Knew the Feds would send more after that. They'd take my Jayne, maybe Mattie, too. Make an example of them. So, I did what had to be done," Mother said, her mouth firming into a grim line.

"Had the boys haul the bodies off, hide 'em in the hills. All kindsa cracks an' unexpected drops up there. Time anybody finds what's left of those weasels, won't nobody even remember who used to live in these parts. We'll all be long passed by then anyhow. Still…" she pressed the non-wrinkles from her dress again, "said a few words over 'em. They was all somebody's sons once, no matter what they'd become. Just cause them in the Core thinks we're uncivilized animals out here, don't mean it's true. A woman's son dies, ought to be somebody to speak over him."

Zoe cast a glance to Mal, silent and staring into the hearth fire, though she knew he wasn't seeing the flames. Right now he wasn't the captain, but a sergeant again, thinking as she was on the thousands dead in Serenity Valley and his homeworld of Shadow, with nary a word spoke to the passing of their souls.

"And so Jayne had to leave Meade four years ago?" Zoe prompted, thinking back to the neat parcel of letters that they'd found in Jayne's bunk. The oldest postal markings were only four years back. Mother nodded to confirm the answer.

"Knew there'd be others come, lookin' for my Jayne. They'd take him away, and then…" Mother pressed her lips together hard and stared out the window.

"No disrespect, ma'am," Mal said, "but if the bodies was hid, an' nobody knew what happened, why would they come looking for Jayne and Mattie?"

Mother took a deep breath and turned tear-filled eyes toward her son. "Weren't so afraid for Mattie. Was afraid for Jayne. What they'd do to him when they found out about him. About what he… where he come from."

Jayne looked up sharply at that, his confusion evident. "What do you mean, where I come from?" he asked softly. "What would they care if I come from Meade?"

Tears spilled down her cheeks as she struggled not to break. "Oh, Jayne… how do I tell you, boy? I prayed this day wouldn't never come, that you could just go on with your life as it was now and never need to know the rest. Maybe wouldn't miss what you couldn't remember. Didn't like keepin' it from you, but you was so happy, and I didn't want it to hurt you. You done been through so much, and more'n what even I know, I'm sure," Mother paused to blow her nose on a delicate embroidered handkerchief.

"But the trouble comin' after you, it ain't likely to go away. And in order to fight it… keep yourself and your friends safe… you gotta know the whole of it. Maybe knowin' it'll help you figure how to get clear of them what's after you. I just hope…" she turned pleading eyes to him, reaching across to take his hand in hers. "I just hope you know I love you, Jayne. Loved you the first minute I laid eyes on you, and always will. Even if… even if the truth changes how you feel. I only meant the best for you."

Jayne's eyes were wide with fear, his breathing shallow and fast as he slid to his knees by her chair. "Ain't nothin' gonna make me not love you, Mother. Can't be nothin' that bad. You ain't gotta say it, if it's gonna pain ya, I'll just figure things out some other way –"

"No," she said, quiet but firm. "Can't let you go on blind, Jayne. Ain't no kinda mother would do that to her son. Even if – " her voice trembled and dropped to a whisper as she held Jayne's gaze, "even if she weren't the one carried and gave birth to that son."

.~.~.~.~.~.

To be continued….


	25. Chapter 25

Ghosts & Memories Past ~ Chapter 25

Disclaimer: Y'all know the deal by now. Nope, they ain't mine. Nope, ain't makin' coin off 'em. And yup, Joss is still Boss! Purely for fun, to satisfy the Muse…

Thanks to everyone following and commenting on this story. Y'all keep me going! Special thanks to jellie_rayneluv, kuryakingirl and vandevere for constant encouragement and help with this fic. All mistakes my own. ;D

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Chapter Twenty-Five

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~Meade, Moon homeworld on the Rim~

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_No! _

_No! Don't say that… _

_The hoarse, anguished whisper echoes up from some faraway canyon between the mountains. _

…_It ain't true!_

_The bitty piece of his mind that hasn't froze and shattered on the hard floor under his knees is screaming at him that it's his own gorram voice, but he can't pay mind to that right now. _

…_It ain't… _

_He struggles to break the steel bands crushing around his lungs, grasps at the knowledge of what he knows is real. _

…_I'm yer son!_

_Thumping in his chest is so loud, damned near drowns out the sickly buzzing whine in his ears. _

…_I know it's so… _

_Helpless against the paralyzing white shroud of shock, he feels truth crumble through his fingers, plummets after the pieces, can't hold onto them, can't hold onto dust._

… _Mother, don't… Please…_

_Can't be true, not true, but Mother don't lie, wouldn't lie about something like this, but if it's true, then it's all been a lie, can't be real…_

…_please…_

"No!" Jayne begged hoarsely at her knee, grasping her hand gently, urgently. "No! Don't say that, it ain't true! It ain't… I'm yer son! I know it's so, Mother, don't…Please… please…"

Jayne's desperate plea for denial cut through the room as he buried his face in her lap, his big body bent double and shaking. Mother bowed her head, tears flowing down her face as she sobbed. She'd wanted to spare him this, but Mal could see how much it was breaking her as well. Something painful twisted in his own gut, seeing his rough gun hand sobbing quietly into his mother's lap. Mal turned his head back to the fire, blaming the burning sting in the corners of his eyes on soot or

"It was right near the end of the War," Mother said quietly, running her fingers through Jayne's short, dark hair. "I was in town when a man approached me. He was a Browncoat, like most of them from Meade. Said he… said he served with my son."

"Jayne said he didn't fight in the War," Mal murmured, looking to Zoe. They'd both been there, on a U-Day that seemed so long ago, when the man had said so from his own lips. Of course, just the other day on Whitefall, Jayne seemed downright perplexed when Mal brought that up.

Mother took a shuddery breath, gently lifting Jayne's head in her hands, holding onto his tear-filled, pleading eyes with her own watery gaze. "I love you, boy. Gotta make sure you know that. I'll always be your mother in my heart. Ain't nothin' gonna change that, son, not ever. But… you weren't born to me. I don't know who yer people were, or where you come from."

Jayne shook his head slowly, like a man trying to get his bearings after a grenade had gone off too close. The captain couldn't hardly blame him. Hard enough, knowing his own family back on Shadow were nothing but dust and memories, the whole planet an unliveable black rock thanks to the Alliance.

But for a man to have everything he held dear, every scrap of what he believed to be righteous truth just yanked out from under him? 'Specially when it was one of the few bits of something he even knew about himself? An uncomfortable tightness closed in on Mal's throat.

"That Browncoat, feller named Riggs, he found me up in Wilkerstown. Said he'd served with… served with my eldest boy, who got killed in the fightin' and Ellis come to tell me personal, wanted me to know. They hadn't sent the letters home already, but I already knew it was so. He hadn't written in months, and never missed a chance to… to let me know how he was doin'. Was nice of this Riggs to make the trip, though, an' I told him so.

"Said he had hated to impose, but there was somethin' real important he needed to ask, and could he come out to the farm the next day to talk about it. He didn't want folks to overhear, nor to see us talkin' fer long out in the street. I told him to come on, I'd listen, but wasn't gonna promise nothin'.

"Showed up right afore dawn the next day, lookin' nervous. Told me they had a feller they been lookin' after at one of their hospitals, but the fightin' was gettin' too close, too heavy. He wasn't shot up, nor nothin', but the man couldn't even see to his daily needs, had to be fed, dressed, cared for and looked after round the clock.

"Some powerful bad had happened to him, what-all they weren't sure. Couldn't hardly talk. Nor barely walk, much less run for cover if the Purple-Bellies started bombing closer, though Riggs said he was gettin' stronger every day.

"Poor man didn't have no folks they could send him to. Somebody had to look after him till he got his wits about him, got strong enough to do for himself.

Mal frowned. "If this feller couldn't talk, how'd they know he didn't have no folks to go home to? Surely somebody knew him, knew where he come from. Didn't nobody in his platoon know?"

Radiant shook her head sadly. "Weren't a soul among 'em could recall ever standin' beside him, nor seein' him neither."

Mal caught Zoe's eye, hesitant to even speak the thought that flashed across his brain. Rubbing his stomach meaningfully, he was surprised and reassured by her frown and slight shake of her head to the negative. She was fair certain, it seemed, that he wasn't some lost Purple-Belly soldier, but how she could be so sure of that he'd wait to find out.

The older lady caught his gesture as well. "Weren't no Alliance man, neither, Captain, you can rest easy on that. 'Sides, if'n he'd ever been, he weren't afterward no how."

"Don't mean to cast no aspersions, ma'am," Mal said carefully, not wanting to make the situation harder on his crewman than it already was. "Just sayin', it mighta explained how none of the Browncoats knowed of him."

Jayne flinched visibly, staring hard out the window at the oncoming storm. "Can't know that for sure, though, can I?" he said in a hoarse, tight voice. "Might be I was one o' them, maybe one o' the worst –"

"No! You wasn't no such thing, boy, an' don't you go thinkin' that!" Mother whispered fiercely, turning his head with a hand on his cheek to make him look her in the eye. "None of them boys on the line knew you, but Riggs… He told me how you'd come to be there with them. An' once I'd seen you, what all the man explained about you made sense."

"But Mothe –" Jayne stopped himself, his voice catching on the word. Looking lost, he asked in a small voice, "Do I… can I still call…"

"Told you, son, you'll always – _always_ – be mine in my heart," she said quick. "I ain't no less your Mother than I been for nigh on a decade now, an' I ain't aimin' to just give that up, dong ma, Jayne? The knowin' of it ain't made a whit of difference in me lovin' you all this time. Up to you whether it… changes how you look on me."

Jayne stared at her a long minute, before a bit of the tension eased out of his broad shoulders.

"Mother," he said slowly, as if trying the word on his tongue to make sure it still fit. Apparently it did, as he straightened a touch and sighed, but his voice grew steadier. "Mother, how can ya be sure I weren't no Purple-Belly?"

"Riggs said he knowed where you'd been during the War, son. You weren't in no condition to fight for either side," she said. "You'd been…well, you'd been in one of them stasis boxes, he said."

"Stasis box? Like one of them… cryo freezer boxes, like we found River in?" He turned a perplexed frown to Mal, whose own face must have shown the same surprised look as Jayne and Zoe's. "Who the ruttin' hell'd wanna freeze me? Beg pardon," he added absently.

"Better question would be the why," Zoe said, looking nervous at Mal. "Especially after what the Doc…"

The three of them exchanged a wary glance, thinking on the device Simon had found hidden deep in Jayne's head.

"They didn't know who," Mother said, catching the looks they were shooting back and forth. "But he did say it had to be a fair bit of time since they'd done it. The doctors thought most of his troubles was from bein' froze so long, though he never said how long they thought that was. But anyhow, I said I'd meet their fella, see if we'd get on well together, if he was gonna be stayin' any amount of time."

"I take it y'all got on well together?" Mal smiled.

Mother shook her head, a whimsical smile playing on her lips. "Weren't expectin' what I found. Guess I figured on findin' some grizzled soldier, weary of all the fightin', hardened or feelin' sorry for his self, bitter an' hatin' the 'verse."

She chuckled, "Ain't what I found a'tall. There you sat straight an' tall outside your tent at that infirm'ry, just lookin' around at all the doin's with wide eyes. Like a little boy tryin' to figure out how everything works, an' payin' attention to it all. Nurses had give you a good shave and when we walked over, up you stood, all proper manners and respectful and smilin'. Had a cane to help you, but you did it, and Riggs seemed fair proud of you for it. You turned them sweet blue eyes on me, and my heart just went out to you, just up and made a special place for you right then and there."

She smoothed her fingers through Jayne's hair, her eyes tearing up again. "Ain't nothin' feels quite like the first time your new child is laid in yer arms. But that day, when I laid eyes on you, boy, was the closest thing to ever come to it. Told Riggs I'd make a home for you, long as you needed or wanted it. Decided then and there, to be a mother to you. Seemed right, you not having no people we knew of, me havin' … havin'done lost a son to the War."

Jayne looked sorrowful at that. "I never knowed you had… had another son. I'm… Mother, I'm sorry. I know I never knowed him, but… I'm sorry you lost him, is all. Don't reckon I made up fer him bein' gone, but…"

"Had to be hard on you, ma'am," Zoe said quietly, looking back to the mantle full of captures. Only two men stared back from the frame, one of them her crewmate. The other person in the captures she'd come to know was Mattie, at various ages over what looked to be about the past eight years or so. "Having to hide your other son's existence."

Mother's just smiled, her eyes far away. "He was a good, good boy, a good man. Believed hard in what he was fightin' for. What he died for. Was one of the reasons I did what I did, took you in… gave you his name, his ident, his… his life that he'd never get to finish. He'd have wanted that, son, to give you a chance in this 'verse, now that his was over."

The big man seemed to struggle with that new enlightenment, his brow furrowed deep.

"Did Mattie… did he ever miss him?" Jayne asked, eying the captures. "His real brother?"

"You _are_ his real brother," Mother said sternly, giving his big hand a squeeze. "Only brother he's ever knowed, Jayne. He weren't barely past a toddler when the War started, and too young to really remember my other Jayne afore he went off to the Browncoats. When you came to us, he was only eleven. Done lived through more out here on the Rim than most young'uns on central planets live in a lifetime. War blockades and rationing, medical shortages, attacks on our home from Feds and bandits and Reavers. Little man had been through so much, I didn't want to put more on his shoulders. So…"

"So you never told him no different," Mal said.

Mother shook her head, looking again for her youngest boy, and perking up a bit at what she saw out the window. "I never told him no different. Already had enough to worry on, without having to keep a huge secret that could cost his brother his freedom or his life. Reckon he's old enough now, though. Keepin' it from him now just puts him in as much risk as keepin' it from you, Jayne."

Jayne nodded grimly, though the worry about what Mattie would make of it all was clear in his troubled blue eyes.

Mal fidgeted with the fire again, as much to have a use for his hands as to coax a bit more warmth into the room. Something bout Jayne's ordeal still nagged at him, though he was hard pressed to put a finger on it.

"That Riggs feller, he say anything 'bout … they think anybody'd been..." Mal hedged, trying to be a gentle for the elderly lady's sake as he could, "that maybe somebody'd been messin' with Jayne's… with his –"

"Did they think whoever put him in cryostasis had… experimented on him, ma'am," Zoe asked gently, and Mal shot her a thankful look for her tact at getting it out when he couldn't.

But Mother didn't seem overly surprised at the idea, nodding sadly as she brushed her fingers over Jayne's hair. "Said they suspected some such, but who nor what, none of them could say for certain. Said you had… had some scars, faint but there all the same, up under your hair. And the shape you was in when they found you, not able to talk nor walk nor take care of yourself, like you didn't know a thing bout the 'verse a'tall. 'Sall I know, and all Riggs seemed to let on about, either."

Her mouth drew together in anger, her soft green eyes taking on an emerald fire. "We ever find out who done all this to you, son, they'll see there's more than one Cobb in this family knows which end of a rifle to use."

Jayne's mouth stretched into a wide grin, a welcome sight to see. "Yes, ma'am, Mother. I s'pect they will."

"I'll hold yer shawl for ya, ma'am," Mal added, his brain still whirring away on the missing piece he felt was right in front of them. "Did he ever say much about that box? Where they found it, or any markings to let on where it mighta come from?"

Her forehead wrinkled a bit in concentration. "I ain't schooled in all them high-tech things, but he did say the type of box weren't what they'd ever seen used by Alliance folk. Somethin' else, though I ain't sure how it matters. Weren't no markings but what was wrote in English on the thing, he said."

"Every rock spinnin' tags everything twice, 'specially anything official," Mal said. "By law, English and Chinese both, needed or not. Been that way since… well, ever since I can recall hearin' about."

"Ain't but a few places I even heard of don't use both, and that's all just local-moved cargo, closed off communities that don't intermingle much," Zoe said. "Been cross-tagged since just after the first permanent colonies got legs under them, when what was left of the governments from Earth-that-Was decided they'd better work together if everyone was gonna survive."

"Mattie!" Mother breathed, the tightness of her shoulders loosening up a bit. "Thank God, he made it back before the snow!"

The four of them crowded to peer out the window glass. Off at the edge of the farthest field, a horse and rider appeared, leading another pack horse behind. Jayne let out a sigh of relief, his face relaxing for an instant before worry snuck back between his drawn brows.

"It'll all be fine, son," Mother assured him, rubbing the expanse between his shoulder blades and giving him a pat.

Mal felt a pang roll through him, though he hated the idea of what the scene made him feel. How many times, after getting tossed from a horse, or his heart stomped by a pretty girl, or the boys at school teasin' him cause he didn't have no Pa running the ranch… how many times had Sharon Reynolds patted her son's back just like that?

The corner of his mouth lifted at the memories of his own Ma comforting him, and the pang of jealousy slid away. Ma wouldn't have wanted him to be bitter toward what Jayne still had. She'd have been the first to point out to Mal that he should think on what he did have. _Miss you, Ma_, he thought, shoving the sting of loss back into its special box in his gut. _You'd have liked Mrs. Cobb._

"Well, folks, I think me an' Zoe'll just… head out to the barn, get things ready for Mattie when he gets here," he said, signaling to the first mate with his head that they should head outside.

"Hang on, Mal, I'll give you a hand," Jayne started, rising to his feet and giving a sniff to collect himself.

"No, no, we can see to it, if that's all right by you, ma'am? I reckon y'all might want a bit of time to… catch up… without everybody hoverin', so..." nodding politely to the lady and Jayne, Mal and Zoe made an exit, leaving their crewman and his mother some privacy.

Neither of them said a word as they crossed the grassy yard between the house and the wooden barn, though Zoe's questioning look kept pinging on the side of his head. Closing the barn door to keep out the growing wind, he turned to find her standing three feet away, arms crossed, and an eyebrow arched, just waiting.

"So…"

"Hmmm. Right, so…" he answered, looking around for the most obvious stalls to prepare for Mattie's animals. Grabbing a pitchfork, he laid into the straw bedding lining the floor, turning it over to check for old leavings. Mattie apparently took the job seriously, though, and Mal just ended up shifting the straw from one pile to another as Zoe leaned in the stall doorway. "There's…."

"Something about that gorram box that don't seem right, sir?" she asked neutrally.

"Exactly!" he crowed, glad it wasn't just his own imaginings. "But I ain't got clue one as to what it is don't sit solid, dong ma?"

She nodded, uncrossing her arms and heading over to the feed box. Filling the small bucket inside with oats, she brought them in, pausing to give Mal a look at the contents. "Bout right?"

"Yeah, bout normal, I reckon," he approved the measure. She may have been around critters since they'd known each other, but she'd grown up on a ship in the Black, while he'd been raised on a working ranch all his days until the War. "You got any thoughts on this development? What ain't we seein', Zo?"

Zoe sighed as she poured the oats into the feed trough attached to the wall. "May not be nothing, but…"

"Nothin' ain't generally never _nothin'_," he said, heading up the ladder in search of hay. She didn't say anything more as he reached the loft, and found a neat wall of stacked two-foot long square bales. "Comin' down," he yelled before tossing a bale by its tied strings, rewarded by the heavy, muffled _thwump_ it made on hard packed dirt below.

"Just think it's a little odd," she finally said, slicing through the string as he climbed back down.

"Odd?" he laughed. "What about these last few days _ain't_ been odd?"

She paused to give him the eye, and Mal held his hands up in mock surrender. "I know, I know. But what?"

"Box that man said they found Jayne in was marked in English," she said, stepping aside to let Mal break off a few flakes of the packed hay.

"Mmmm-hmmm," he murmured, letting the sweet smell of dried alfalfa and timothy grass take him back for a moment to happier days, before battle and crime and crewmen with mysterious origins. A grin threatened to slip up on him as he thought about the many searing hot days on the Shadow prairie, when he'd fussed about having to work the hay. His young arms and legs and back had been flat worn out, muscles strained and achy from liftin' and haulin' and stackin' the precious hay supply away for the ranch's horses during winter. Never dreamed then he'd miss that, but there it was. "English. Like we're speakin' now."

"Just English," she said pointedly. "Like Jayne's book, his 'symbol' as River called it. Just English."

Mal let that tumble around his head for a minute. She was onto something, he knew she was, but where that was leading didn't…

"Don't make no gorram sense," he muttered out loud.

"Look at the facts," she said, her dark brown eyes worrying on something he was sure he didn't want to look at, but there weren't no help for it. "Riggs said they thought he'd been in stasis for a long while. Ain't the sort of thing they'd remark on unless it'd been a _long_ while. And the cryo box wasn't familiar to the doctors, who probably had been working with Alliance tech not just a few years back."

"War didn't last that long," he said, a hint of bitterness creeping into the words, though he tried to keep it out. "Couldn't have been more than ten years earlier since they'd all been happily employed by Fed-friendly facilities, right? Alliance technology would be familiar to them, but this thing, this box, wasn't."

"All worlds spinnin' require both English and Chinese for tagging, labeling, everything. Been that way since – "

"Since…"

"A long damned time, Mal," she huffed, her arms crossed again. "Since anybody can recall hearing of. Since… since damned near the beginning of the colonies from Earth-that-Was. But that box… and… and his journal…"

Mal barked out a laugh, wishing the idea squirming around his head seemed more comical and outlandish than it was beginning to feel. "You ain't sayin'… I mean, really, Zoe, he can't be…"

"Just sayin' what the facts are, Mal. I ain't telling you how to add 'em up," she said plainly, a hint of tremble in her voice. "But I ain't sayin' I think your math's wrong, either."

Mal stood there in the stall just looking back at her, racking his brain for some argument to counter the conclusion staring back at him. "You don't think…?"

Zoe just shrugged. Mal absently tossed the hay into the rack above the feed pan, dumbfuzzled by the picture the puzzle pieces were painting. "Huh!"

To be continued…

A/N: I'll try to get at least one more update of this story before NaNoWriMo. Much more to come, thanks for sticking with me on this one. Reviews are greatly appreciated, ;D


	26. Chapter 26

Ghosts & Memories Past ~ Chapter 26

Disclaimer: Y'all know the deal by now. Nope, they ain't mine. Nope, ain't makin' coin off 'em. And yup, Joss is still Boss! Purely for fun, to satisfy the Muse…

Back from NaNoWriMo, hope the chapter makes up for the long wait. Thanks to everyone following and commenting on this story. Y'all keep me going! All mistakes my own. ;D

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Chapter Twenty-Six

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~Meade, Moon homeworld on the Rim~

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Snowflakes flurried around the barn as the distant rider closed the distance. Tall in the saddle, the young man hefted a hunting rifle to his hip as he noticed the two unfamiliar figures standing outside his home, but made no move to speed up. Behind him, a second horse trod onward, laden with bulky wrapped bundles and camping gear.

Zoe and Mal waited for him as he approached from across the bare, snow-crusted field, their palms out to the sides to show they weren't holding weapons. Living on a wild Rim moon, weren't no telling how a body would react to coming up on two strangers at their own house.

"Reckon y'all got reason to be comin' outta my barn whilst I'm gone," he drawled pleasantly, the hard edge evident beneath his cordial tone. Sharp eyes flicked once over to the house, then back on the two strangers."Best not waste time about givin' it."

"Reckon you'd be right, Mattie," Mal answered with an easy smile, noticing how the young man's eyes narrowed at hearing his own name. Now that he was closer, it was easy to see the boy still inside the young man, most likely wasn't even out of his teens yet. Still, he'd already learned not to let nobody have an advantage over him. "Name's Malcolm Reynolds, captain of Serenity. I fly with your brother Jayne. This here's – "

"What happened to 'im?" he asked tightly, his face tensed and turned an ashy white.

"He's safe and well," Mal said quickly. "He's inside talkin' with yer Ma. She's been hopin' you'd get back before the snow hit."

As quickly as he'd turned pale, Mattie released a sigh, his shoulders relaxing a bit. "Well… good. I's afraid you'd come to tell Mother… well, we both know the kind of work Jayne hires out to, whether she talks about it or not. Thought you'd come to tell us he'd met his end."

"Not a bit of it," Mal said, lowering his hands to hang his thumbs off his belt. "Though if he had, we'd either make sure to come by, or be sharin' in the same endin'."

Mattie nodded, glancing over at the tall woman beside Mal who hitched her chin up in greeting. "Mattie."

"Zoe Washburne," Mal introduced. "My first mate."

"Ma'am," Mattie tipped his brimmed hat to her with a nod, sliding down off his horse and leading the animals toward the barn. "Nice to meet ya. Though I gotta ask, what kinda trouble brings y'all to the ass-end of the 'verse?"

Mal and Zoe exchanged a quick look, but Mattie just rolled his eyes and shook his head. The expression was so Jayne-like, that if he didn't know the truth of their kinship, Mal wouldn't doubt for a second that them two was blood brothers.

"Don't take no genius. Jayne ain't said nothin' in his letters bout a visit, and ain't been planet-side on Meade since I's learnin' to shave. All a-sudden, he comes home, no notice, with not just crewmates but his captain and the first mate in tow, and no ship to be seen for miles?" Mattie cocked a brow at them.

"Reckon you'd be right, guessin' there's trouble," the captain admitted. Seemed Mattie was as blunt as Jayne when it come to getting right to the point of things. "Be best we explained it all inside, if that suits you? Figure both you and your animals are about ready for a good warm roof and some dinner."

"Reckon you'd be right."

.~.~.~.

"He ain't gonna like it."

"He'll understand, you'll see. Just gonna have to give him time, let it sink in."

Jayne felt his jaw clench, not wanting to second guess her, though doubt and worry wouldn't let go of him.

"He's gonna be mad nobody told him. That it's all been… that we ain't really…" he couldn't bring himself to finish that thought, couldn't say the words out loud that him and Mattie wasn't true brothers.

Mother sighed, watching as her younger son entered the barn. "If he is, it ain't gonna be at you, Jayne. You couldn'ta told him what you didn't even know yerself." Patting her elder son's shoulder as he knelt beside her and stared worriedly out at the barn, she sighed again. "If he's gonna be mad at anybody, it'll be me. I ain't breathed a word of it all these years, not even once he was old enough to understand."

"He better ruttin'-well not!" Jayne fumed, a fierce scowl on his face.

"Temper," Mother scolded softly.

"Yes'm, sorry," he grumbled, still worried about Mattie's reaction. "But he ain't got call to be mad at you, Mother. You did what you had to do to keep us all safe, dong ma?"

"You just let me worry about your brother gettin' mad. Mattie's a smart boy. He'll understand why I didn't tell him nor nobody else, once he gets past the surprise of it."

Jayne let his finger trace the pattern of the chair arm, not talking for a long minute. "I just don't… don't wanna lose m'brother, on top of everything else," he admitted quietly. "Ain't got much in this 'verse to cling to, Mother. Don't know what I'll do, he don't wanna be my brother no more. Even if I gotta remind myself that he is every day."

"You ain't gonna lose him, son. The heart knows what's true, even if the mind don't always remember. Not all your family shares your blood, that's been true for all time. Just like that family you got onboard that ship. Y'all been through so much together, you ain't just crew no more, are you? That captain and warrior woman, they wouldn't be here with you right now, that was the case. Woulda turned you over slick as spit, if y'all was just crew, tell themselves they done it to make everybody else safe. But they didn't. Puts 'em at risk, could cost 'em in the end, but they stand by you, Jayne, just like I know you stand by them."

He started to answer, watching Mattie and his crewmates carry the bundles from the barn.

"Looks like Mattie got a big one," Mother said, but Jayne didn't half hear the words, his eyes focused on the horizon.

"Should be able to get through the rest of the winter, with what all meat he…" Mother trailed off, looking sideways at him. "What is it, boy?"

Jayne shook his head, squinting at the distance. "Somethin'… can't say just what, but… somethin' ain't right."

Mother followed his stare, her own gaze narrowing before her green eyes flew wide.

"Get Mattie and your folks in the house, _mashong_, Jayne," she whispered fiercely. "Get 'em in here now!"

Jayne bolted through the front door, revolver drawn, as three small dark dots grew larger on the horizon, the whine of engines echoing off the hard ground. "Mal! We got company!" he hollered, grabbing Zoe's load as he met them halfway across the yard. The first mate immediately drew her gun and turned, taking up a moving rear-cover position as the four made their way to the house.

"Mattie, you get the house locked down an' ready," Mother ordered steadily as they slid through the door. "Jayne, you an' your people follow me now."

"Ma'am, there's three Fed hovers comin' at us," Mal said as he followed along out through the back door. "Can't bear more weight than four to a craft. We got the advantage, an' they're prob'ly countin' on surprise. If you got any extra munitions, we stand a pretty good chance to make a stand."

"Oh, I got a notion or two how to deal with them, Captain," the old woman said as she led them into an innocent looking smoke-house. "Jayne, I don't reckon you remember none of this, but move them barrels and pull up the boards on that corner over there."

Jayne set to the task without a word, rolling the barrels on their edges and prying up a three-plank trap door with a crowbar set nearby. Below the floor, a set of steps had been carved out of the dirt, reinforced with pieces of brick and broken crockery here and there. Darkness hid whatever lay past the first few yards, but a light rush of cold, fresh air hit his face.

"Mother, they'll find the open hole and follow us," Jayne said, shaking his head. "An' we can't just leave Mattie here alone – "

"Ain't gonna leave him, Jayne," she said, stuffing a plain canvas bag with a few of the food items stored in the shed. "You an' yer folk go, me an' Mattie'll hold 'em off. Got a few surprises them Purple-Bellies ain't figured on. Git on, now, time's wastin'." She pressed the bag into his chest, but he just stared at her unbelieving.

"Ain't gonna just hide in some hole whilst the Feds burn the place down!"Jayne shouted, urgency warring with fear for his family.

"It ain't a hole, Jayne, it's a tunnel," she said fast. "Brings you out other side of the ridge. Follow the water. When you get through, turn north, head along the creek to the big outcrop of rocks and turn east up that ridge. Few hours, you'll come across that old cabin you and Mattie used for huntin', you'll know it when you see it. Now go, boy! We'll fetch you when it's clear."

"Ain't leavin' you here alone, Mother!"

"No, you ain't," Mal said firmly, taking the bag from Mother's grip and holding it to Zoe with a direct stare. "I'm stayin', you two are goin'. Zoe, keep him safe. Remind him when he needs it, _dong ma_?"

"_Shr ah_," Zoe nodded, taking the bag and slinging two water pouches across her shoulder that Mother handed her.

"Mal!" Jayne protested, watching Zoe swiftly disappear down the hole, a torch lighting up the bottom of the stairs after a second.

"Yer wastin' time, Jayne, yours and ours," Mal told him with a look Jayne knew said the captain weren't gonna change his mind. "Every second you stand here arguin' is one more we ain't got to defend ourselves up here. Can't let' 'em have you, and you know full well why. Now go, or I'll shoot yer leg and push ya down there!"

Jayne grit his teeth, hearing the engine whine closing in on the homestead. "You take care of them, hear me?" he ground out.

"Got my word," Mal nodded sharply, turning to fetch the boards to put back. Pulling his mother into a brief, one-armed hug, he pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head and charged down the steps after Zoe.

At the bottom of the narrow stairway, he found a second battery-powered torch, flicking it on just as the light from up top started disappearing. A scraping sound told him Mal was moving the barrels back to their old positions, and a sprinkling of dust falling in the thin dim light meant Mother must have made it look like nothing had been moved for a while.

When he heard the outer door slam, he turned to move through the low, packed-dirt tunnel, ducking just a bit to keep his head from banging on the thick, rough-hewn beams set every few feet to support the ceiling.

Zoe had scouted ahead a few dozen yards, and was waiting for him around a slight bend at what looked like a dead end. The tunnel ended in a little room that looked like it'd been hollowed out of the hillside, about ten feet by ten feet. Rough-hewn planks covered the walls, and assorted tools and pouches hung from pegs drove into the thick wood.

"Well, what now?" Zoe asked. "Ain't no goin' back that way, not with the barrels on the hatch. And I ain't riskin' you fallin' into Fed hands anyway," she added, reading his face and knowing that he was thinking on heading back.

"Mother said this was a tunnel, not a hole," he said, looking around for some sign that would prove that. "Gotta be some way outta here, you'd think."

On the left, a shelf ran the length of the chamber, holding cups and metal pots and a few boxes. A cupboard had been built into the corner of opposite wall where it joined with the back, though why it would be put there looked to be poor planning. Below the shelf, a metal spigot had been driven into the wall, fresh water trickling out across wide stones that had been set in the dirt floor.

It looked like the stream fed some kind of underground cistern, what with the ceramic pipes half submerged along that wall. But the ground must have settled at some point, since instead of just draining right into the pipes, the water pooled into a small depression in the rock before flowing on across to fill the back half of the chamber, riding about eight inches up on the bottom of the cupboard.

Something about the smell and sounds of this room hit a nerve in him. Jayne nearly staggered from the wave of fear washing over him as images came fast and hazy and gut-deep.

_Mother's face, fearful but determined, pushing him down the steps with urgent hands into the darkness. His blood pounds in his ears as an unholy shriek cuts through the warm autumn air. What makes that kind of soulless scream? Why isn't he going out to fight it? Legs won't work right, can't yell out to give him a gun, let him help. Helpless. Useless. Breath rushes into his heaving lungs, but he still can't catch it._

_Mattie, no taller than his chest, helps Mother pull the planks back into position. A long, gleamin revolver in her hands, she crouches at the foot of the stairs a moment, listening as screams and wails filter into the saferoom._

_In the pitch black, he smells the damp earth, can make out a trickling sound over the howls of fury and bloodlust outside. Terror grips him to his core. Mother is afraid, won't tell him why, just grabbed him by the wrist and pulled when the smoking ship flew past the barn. Pretty dark haired girl screams, he knows it's her, that she's dropped the tankard of early autumn cider. No more twirling her skirt as she dances, smiling at him. Wants to rush out there, save her, but Mattie wraps around his waist, trembling._

_He hates feeling this helpless, can't defend, can't hardly walk, what the hell's happened to him, what are those things out there? He doesn't want to know, afraid he's gonna know._

_Feels Mattie touch his arm, hug him tight before brushing past him to get further into the darkness. Splashing feet, a creak of hidden hinges, air tickles the back of his neck where the hairs are standing straight up. Clanking metal, and Mother pushes him to stumble through the water. Ice cold, lapping at his unsteady ankles as the hinges creak again and suddenly there's light as Mattie lights a torch. Mother throws a heavy plank against the hidden door as his hand braces on the cool, damp rock wall._

"Jayne?"

Zoe's calm, steady voice dissolved the memory. Shivering, and shaking himself, he handed her the bag, he stepped into the shallow water, examining the back wall.

"Throw us a couple pots and such in there, no tellin' how long we'll be up on the mountain," he said, searching for some sort of trigger. He found it, hidden neatly in the woodworking along the cupboard's edge. Sliding the lever, he felt a flood of relief to hear the creaking of metal hinges, and swung the concealed door forward. The water sluiced into a dark tunnel of stone, and the placement suddenly made perfect sense to him. The pooling stream would hide the fact someone had moved the cupboard, disguise the fact it was a door.

Hoisting the bag back on his shoulder, he flashed the torch down the gently sloping spring-carved tunnel.

"Through here," he said flatly. "Or back up."

"You know we've got to go through there, Jayne," she said in that quiet, firm voice. Her eyes told him she didn't like running, leaving the others to the battle, any more than he did.

"What kinda man runs away while his gray-haired mother and a half-grown boy fights his battles for him?" he muttered, feeling about as high as a worm right then.

"The kind that has some high-tech go se stuck in his head, tech that the Feds are willin' to kill to get. Willin' to kill everybody who knows about it to keep it quiet," she said directly, her eyes not holding the contempt he woulda figured but an understanding of how he felt. "The kind of man who does what needs doin' for the best of everybody, not just to satisfy his own pride. You bein' here ain't gonna help, Jayne, it'll only make it worse. We keep movin'."

Zoe stepped decisively past him into the tight stone-walled pathway. Her steps splashed lightly through the stream as it flowed into the mountain, still working to slowly cut the winding path through the rock.

"Hope you're right," he said low, following her lead through the hole behind the cupboard.

"Besides," she added without looking back. "I got a notion Mother Cobb wasn't puttin' on when she said she had a surprise for them Purple-Bellies, and Mal and Mattie both there with her ain't goin' down easy. My coin's on the tough old lady any day."

He had to give a little smile at that. Zoe was right, Mother'd lived out here through some mean times, and was still kickin' pretty high. Even with a young son to raise and an apparently invalid man to nurse back to health, she'd seen them through war and bandits and Reaver attacks. That had to give him a little hope.

Pulling the door closed, he threw the bar across, hearing the latch click in the cupboard on the other side. With a grimace, he turned and headed into the heart of the mountain.

.~.~.~.

To Be Continued…. Reviews are very appreciated. ;D


	27. Chapter 27

Ghosts & Memories Past ~ Chapter 27

Disclaimer: Y'all know the deal by now. Nope, they ain't mine. Nope, ain't makin' coin off 'em. And yup, Joss is still Boss! Purely for fun, to satisfy the Muse…

Thanks to everyone following and commenting on this story. Unbeta'd, so all mistakes my own.

Authors Note: I really appreciate the continued support for this story, and apologize for the long delay, RealLife's been hectic & not cooperative a'tall! I'm not dropping this story. Thanks for all the wonderful reviews, your encouragement keeps me going. Next chapter will be sooner and longer, but I wanted to get this up while I could. Thanks! ~Brandywine00

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Chapter Twenty-Seven

.~.~.~.~.~~  
Meade, Moon homeworld on the Rim~

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"Mattie, you got ever'thing ready for our guests?"

Mother Cobb's bustled back through the house to the parlor with more steam than Mal would've figured for a woman of her years. Jayne's dear sweet mother certainly was full of surprises. He just hoped Radiant Cobb had enough tricks in her apron pocket to help him deal with three hovercraft full of Federals. This was likely to be a hell of a firefight, and despite the other two defenders being Cobbs, it still was the three of them taking on a whole slew of Federals.

"Puttin' on the last dollops, Mother," the boy's voice called from the kitchen area. "Half a minute."

"Ma'am, you want me to take up at the window, or to come around from the side of the house?" Mal asked pulled his revolver from the holster and quickly checked his ammunition. Full up, with a spare box always carried in his faithful longcoat. He just hoped this crew didn't have lasers. Wasn't too likely way out here on the Rim, but some of the Alliance troops were sold on them and willing to pay the extra coin just for bragging rights. One swipe from a handheld laser pistol could set fire to the house. He set his jaw grimly.

"Want you upstairs, an' don't be slow," the elderly woman ordered, fetching a small wood box from behind the row of captures on the mantle. "Mattie, I'll call for ya, you know the play."

"All ready, Mother."

"Good boy," she said, following Mal as he took the stairs two at a time. He paused at the landing, trying to pick room where the window would give him best line of sight to pick off these bastards. "Jayne's room, _ma shong_!"

He turned toward the room in question, then back to the elderly woman with a questioning look. "Ain't they on the other side of the house?"

"They are, an' nearly on us. Keep movin'," she said with a push on his shoulder toward Jayne's room. "Got a plan, but no time to debate it. _Go_! And start shuckin' outta them britches an' boots!"

"Beg-_pardon_?"

.~.~.~.

Frigid water from deep in the heart of the mountain seeped through boot-leather as Jayne and Zoë trudged through the cavern stream.

"Shouldn'ta left 'em," Jayne growled again. "Shoulda stayed an' fought. Shouldn'ta run off like a scared pup, tail between his legs – "

"Would've got yourself captured, and them killed," Zoë sighed again.

"Don't know they ain't already bein'…"

"Stop." The word was quiet but firm. "Jayne, I ain't gonna keep arguing this with you. You're just using up your energy, and mine, frettin' over what couldn't be helped, and can't be changed. You know why we can't let them take you. Even if it means… well, we can't."

Water splashed up his pants legs as he stomped ahead of her in stony silence. Zoe pushed back the nagging little voice inside that agreed with Jayne. It sat hard on her conscience, leaving the captain and Jayne's family to deal with the Feds. But with whatever Jayne carried in his head, and what the Alliance would be eager to do with it if they ever got their hands on the ablitly, even the hardest sacrifices had to be risked.

Didn't mean she had to like it, either. She shoved the knot of worry from her chest, trying hard not to think about what Mal and the remaining Cobbs were facing right now.

A few feet ahead, Jayne forged ahead through the narrow, twisting passage, his broad shoulders tight and hunched inward from both guilt and the tight quarters. Zoe knew how the man must feel: forced to leave his kin and friend to their fates, knowing there was no other choice, but still feeling about as low as a snake for doing it.

Was a time, what seemed a lifetime ago, she would have been surprised at the idea of Jayne Cobb worrying over anybody but his own self.

.~.~.~.~

Mal was taken aback by Mother Cobb's request, but ran to the end of the hallway, stripping his suspenders off his shoulders as he ran and starting on the buttons of his trousers. The woman seemed to know what she was about, and this was her world, but if felt unnatural to not be finding a good window to shoot from.

"Ain't gonna pretend I fathom what you're plannin', ma'am, but I ain't lettin' you take on a squad of Feds by yourself. Ain't gonna be much use – "

"Yer gonna be the main weapon, Captain," she answered without slowing once they entered the small bedroom. "Though all you have to do is lay there an' look pitiful, _dong ma_?"

Shoving any personal sign of her son into the wooden dresser, she yanked the covers on his bed back and turned toward the door. "Strip down to yer unders and nought more, kick yer clothes 'neath the bed an' get in."

"I told Jayne I wouldn't let – "

"You ain't gonna let, but you keep talkin', an' it's all gonna be lost!" she said in a voice that would've made his training sergeant envious. "I ain't no fool, boy, an' I ain't got time to explain it all. Now _move_!"

His hesitation lingered, but he knew a resolute mind when he saw one. Tearing out of the remaining clothes, he climbed under the covers. "All right, what now?"

Radiant spun and knelt beside the bed, opening the box and dabbing a bit of the contents on her handkerchief. The salve had a light medicinal smell to it, and itched a bit as she rubbed it lightly on his face, neck, chest and arms. Pulling the covers from the bottom of the bed, she smeared the oily cloth lightly on his feet and lower legs.

"Gonna sting a bit in just a moment, an' I'm right sorry 'bout it all," she warned, heading to the corner of the room and fiddling with a floorboard that hadn't looked loose a second ago. "Don't touch it in your eyes, nose or mouth, if you can help it."

Mal hissed as that very reaction started creeping across his skin. His hand reached up to scratch his cheek, but he caught it in time. "How long's this sting gonna last?"

"Long enough to get rid of these 'Liance _hundans_," she said fast, giving the room a quick sweep with her sharp eyes. "It'll ease off a smidge, but stay potent enough to make you feel it. If can't keep 'em outta here, yer my cousin's boy, Richard, from over toward Castle Town way, _dong ma_? Travelin' storyteller, ya come down with Spot Fever on yer way through, an' I'm tendin' ya. Yer in too much pain to talk, if they ask, just moan and hiss. This here'll make ya itch an' burn, give you sweats and pale ya up a bit, but it's harmless. Spot Fever's catchy as everything, an awful sickness around here. They're Feds, but they're mostly local, so I'm figurin' they won't have a notion to get close. Keep yer piece primed an' ready neath the covers, just in case."

"Yes'm," Mal gritted out, already feeling the burn as she shut the door. He could hear her quick steps down the stairs, but the creeping itch crawled up his neck, spread across his chest and down his legs, and he had to focus on not clawing his skin to be rid of it.

.~.~.~.

To Be Continued… really soon, I promise!


	28. Chapter 28

Ghosts & Memories Past ~ Chapter 28

_A Firefly Tale_

Disclaimer: Firefly and Serenity – not mine. Characters of Firefly or any other recognizable fandoms – not mine. Jayne Cobb – not mine (damn!) Cashy money off this story – not mine. Mistakes, typos and dangling participles – well, I guess I get to own something. ;D

Sorry for the long delay, RL had a part to play in that. Back in the fray again. Many thanks to everyone still following and commenting on this story. Y'all keep me going! All mistakes my own. ;D

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Chapter Twenty-Eight

.~.~.~.~.~

_Searing cold seeps through his veins, arms, legs beyond pain as feeling disappears one millimeter at a time. Wrong. All wrong, whole thing's skewed, too late but none of it matters anymore anyway. _

_Hazy spikes of bitterness rise. His mission failed, his life seems failed, until moment by moment the frigid tendrils wrap around all thoughts, squeezing them toward silence…._

_He shudders, shoving back against the all-consuming white darkness. Must stay on task … keep the mission on target…can't fail his team…where's his team? Can't see past the damned white surface… walls?... no, ceiling, the naked compact fluorescent bulb set into the recess painful to his upturned retinas… all wrong, not supposed to be here, supposed to be… warehouse…_

_.~.~._

"_The contact's not going to show."_

_He turns to the voice, sniper-sharp vision making out the dark-clad feminine form against the dirty brick of the abandoned warehouse. _

"_A diversion… to throw us off the trail…" His partner's ponytail slices through the air as she whips around. Blonde he knows, though in the darkness her hair just a slightly less-black shadow. She checks to make sure the Kid is still where he's supposed to be. The Kid… not quite an accurate description these days, he admits with an unseen smile in the dark, but still young enough to have more balls than brains. _

_Except the brains are there too, enhanced and stuffed full of things it's taken himself decades of hard work to master. He can't help but smirk, feel a begrudging admiration for the younger man. Not like the Kid asked for any of this, but damned if he hadn't taken the challenge and run with it. Yeah, brains, but balls, too. _

"_Diversion?" Blondie's eyes widen, settle back on him as she whispers. Kid may have super-brains, but strategy and experience, those are his bailiwicks. They both still look to him for answers when the shit hits the fan. _

_Like now. _

"_Or trap?" _

_He snarls as the words barely make it past her lips, bright light flooding the center of the cavernous room. The echo warns of more than a dozen weapons, slides racking, ammunition being chambered, safeties being removed. Damn, he should've seen this coming, why didn't he see this coming?_

"_Get him outta here," he growls low enough that only she can hear, or he hopes she does, or hopes that their years of working in tandem have forged some kind of mental connection she can hear or read or feel. He doesn't have to see her face to read how torn she is: she should save the Kid, that's still their primary objective. But to do so abandons her partner to chance and fate. They both know what happens to spies who rely on luck, just as they both know that there's only one choice either of them can accept. He hisses the order._

"_Now!"_

_She dives for cover, with the grace of a ballerina and the power of a tigress, and he barely has time to regret that the Kid stole her heart the first moment she walked through the door. They'll keep each other safe, have to keep each other out of enemy hands. If he can buy them just a few seconds' time to do it, he knows they'll make it out alive. _

_And if they're alive, he knows, he KNOWS, they'll come back for him, the first time in his career he's ever known with such unfailing certainty that anyone would. Not because she and the Kid have more guts than brains, but because they have more heart, and despite all his career-long credo of avoiding unprofessional personal entanglements, he's been entangled, been adopted into their dysfunctional little extended family. _

_And family, he now knows, is everything._

_He dives the exact instant she does, in the opposite direction, hoping their diverging paths will draw the focused beam of light away from one or the other. He's not disappointed when the spotlight follows his larger form into the back shadows. A stack of empty wooden crates offer little cover, but it's better than nothing as boots clamber off rusted metal stairs, toward his location. _

_Ammo check. Full-up in his pistol. His backup in the ankle holster holds more, but he'll never get the chance to use them. A sharp pain pierces his neck, three more follow into the gap between his body armor and his shoulder even as he pulls the first tranq dart out. _

_The walls spin down to meet him or maybe the floor drifts up, he can't be sure. A deep voice barks out orders in another language. Russian, maybe, but his fuzzly mind can't make the translations right now. Blue eyes sparkle behind his thoughts, framed by ebony hair and lips heavy with endearments spoken in his enemy's language. He hopes She wouldn't be too disappointed in him for forgetting the words, after all those long nights spent in her arms, whispering sweet everythings to her in what he believed was her native tongue… ah, well, he can't call those hot, dangerous hours wasted… _

…_His name hovers on the edge of her full lips, spilling over as they cling to each other in passion and some innate recognition of their sameness. Has to credit his dark-haired beauty with that… even as he drives into her, stealing her attentions briefly from the violent civil war outside their hotel window… she never loses even the guttural edge of her accent, never once slips into the soft, lyrical inflections of her true mother language. A professional, his woman is, as entrenched in the craft of being someone else as surely as he is. _

_Damn, if only he could remember the sound of her voice, her name, even if it isn't really her real name, maybe he could decipher the gloating voice now attached to the boot kicking him in the ribs. But her bright blue eyes are fading now, so too the raven sheen of her hair as the white cold takes another bite from his soul…_

_.~.~._

Her wrist chrono said it wasn't even midnight yet, but Zoe fought to keep her eyes open. Just one minute longer. Only a few more moments. Anything to stay awake, to listen for the sounds of boots on the wood porch outside.

Jayne had already given up the battle, the sound of his deep, measured breaths filling the small cabin. She was thankful for that, truth be told, gave her something to focus on besides her own thoughts, though there were plenty of them swirling round in her mind.

The two of them had reached the cabin just as the last of the thin winter light faded out, before the relentless fall of white flakes had reached snowstorm proportions. They'd made it just in time. A good foot of heavy wet snow blanketed the ground last time she looked outside before bunking down.

Weren't much to the place, just a squared log box with a door and one shuttered window facing the hills through a gap in the trees. She was pretty sure she knew which of those tall mountains in the distance was the one they'd just come out of, might be handy to know if she had to trek back by herself. Like if the Feds somehow knew about the cabin, if Mother Cobb's plans had failed and the Captain been taken and her friend and an old woman and a young boy tortured until they gave up the hiding place…

Zoe shut off that line of thought. Weren't gonna come to that, she told herself, adjusting the rolled-up shirt she was using as a pillow and pulling just a bit of the quilt back from the covers-hoarder who was now sleeping soundly on the other half of the cabin's small bed.

Never in a million years dreamed she'd be sharing any kinda bunk with Jayne Cobb for any reason. Yet here she was, tucked in between the man and the cabin wall, trying to stay awake and keep him from wrapping the whole gorram blanket around himself. At least he didn't snore, and he put off a fair bit of body heat, she admitted. She missed that, being curled up next to a natural heat source…

Zoe shut off that line of thought, too. Weren't no point to nobody thinking this was anything more than what it was. Weren't nothing more than two crewmates trying to keep from freezing to death, without building more than a tiny fire in the pot-belly stove. They'd have to snuff the fire out come daylight, if the weather cleared enough to make the smoke plume visible. Mal and Mattie and Mother Cobb had risked too much to buy their escape, without them throwing an obvious gray beacon to the Feds over the mountains.

Zoe tamped down the nagging remorse at leaving them. Sure, she'd tried to make Jayne feel less like a heel for running, told the truth when she pointed out that there weren't a choice about him leaving. Didn't mean it settled any better in her belly than it did in his. Some things just had to be done, like them or not. So much more at risk here than a handful of folks' lives, just like during the War.

Only this time, it was personal. This time, it wasn't faceless Alliance soldiers shooting across the trenches hoping to get lucky and hit whoever they could. This time, there was a definite, selected target. One that had something the Alliance would use to make the 'verse a hell if they got hold of it. One they were after with a will she'd only encountered during the Operative's chase for River Tam.

One that had just rolled over and thrown a muscular arm across her waist, pulled her close with a mumble, and nuzzled up to the crook of shoulder.

Zoe froze. Jayne's breath sighed warm across her neck as he settled back into the deep steady pattern of slumber.

She ought to move his arm. She ought to push him over to the other edge of the bed, though truth in point that would only be a few inches. She ought to elbow his ribs, waking him and threatening to _gorram_ shoot him if he didn't keep his _gorram_ arm to his _gorram_ self. She ought to, at the very least, try to scoot herself closer to the wall, as if that were possible.

She ought to not be thinking on how much warmer she was now, or how her body seemed to fit just right in the curve of his, or how his seemed to wrap around hers just right, or how the fact that he trusted her so completely as to drop his guard and sleep while she was there, or how _gorram_ nice it was to have someone just holding her, not asking for nothing nor expecting nothing.

She'd wake him up, tell him to stay on his own side. In a minute. He was warm, that was it. After all, no sense in letting the both of them freeze to death over an arm. She'd just keep herself to herself, and ignore the growing warmth in her belly as her eyes grew too heavy to stay open. She'd wake him up, here in just a minute or two…

.~.~.

A/N: I know, it's been a long, _LONG_ time since I updated this story, but Real Life kinda took precedence… and then my Muse clammed up (stubborn wench). Deep thanks to all who have continued with this story, and for those helpful reviews and nudges to keep going… there will be a conclusion, eventually, but still more to tell in this tale. Reviews are always appreciated, and help me write better (and hopefully with more frequency!)


	29. Chapter 29

Ghosts & Memories Past ~ Chapter 29

Disclaimer: Y'all know the deal by now. Nope, they ain't mine. Nope, ain't makin' coin off 'em. And yup, Joss is still Boss! Purely for fun, to satisfy the Muse…

Thanks to everyone following and commenting on this story. Unbeta'd, so all mistakes my own. .

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Chapter Twenty-Nine

.~.~.~.~.~~  
~Meade, lunar homeworld on the Rim~

His chest itched. His arms ached. His feet burned. His legs writhed slowly from the fire dancing up his calves.

It took every ounce of determination Mal had not to claw at his face, for fear of making gouges that would let Mother Cobb's infernal salve into contact with his blood stream. He didn't want to contemplate on what kind of hell the concoction would create, if it was traveling around inside him, too.

Angry red welts marked every inch of skin that had been exposed to the hateful stuff. He must look a sight, hopefully enough of one to be convincing without close interrogation. Breathing hard through his nose, Mal strained to hear what was going on downstairs.

The Feds had arrived, their muffled voices terse yet polite as they questioned Jayne's mother about her son's whereabouts. Mal kept one hand under the covers, the revolver in his grip, cocked and ready to fire if need be.

With any luck, the situation wouldn't come to that. The three of them would have a devil of a time taking down a dozen or so Feds. Any what got away would call the whole garrison down on them. Even if Mal and the Cobbs could take down every man here now, there'd still be a heap of explaining to do when the patrol didn't check in on time.

And he'd really hate to have endured Mother Cobb's salve for nothing.

The sounds of the agents filtered up through the window. He could hear them rummaging through the barn and outbuildings, with the slamming of wooden doors and the thump of hay bales hitting the ground. He'd wager credits to dim sum, they'd leave the mess for the old woman and young boy to put back in order.

"…cousin's boy, took ill with a bad case of Spotsy..." Radiant Cobb's voice grew louder, laced with a little huffing and puffing as the elderly woman trudged up the stairs. Mal bit back a smile at her acting skills. The tough old bird had nearly sprinted that staircase earlier. "…lend me your young arm, there, dear boy. I'd hate to delay your duties by taking a spill… there's a good lad. You kin to the Thomasons over Hillview Township way?"

"Yes'm, born an' raised," the officer's thick accent confirmed he was a local. "Do hate to be troublin' you with all this, Ma'am, but I got my orders, and… well, we just need to get some information from him. You know how it is, higher ups get a bug up their _pi gu_- er, beg pardon – get a notion in their heads, they won't let us workin' men rest 'til they get it answered."

"Oh, I know all about it, Lieutenant Thomason. I just can't understand why they think my boy Jayne knows anything 'bout no Cortex fraud tomfoolery. He's a good boy, my Jayne is. Wish he could make it home sometime to see his old mother. But like I told you, he ain't been round for a long spell, now. Ain't nobody up here 'cept my kin from Castle Township, an' he's in an awful bad way right now."

"I understand, Ma'am, but regulations are regulations," the young Fed said, his tone so apologetic Mal almost felt sorry for the bastard. Almost.

"An' if any of these new fellas report that I didn't do a thorough, by-the-book, regulation search, it'll be trouble for me that I don't like to think on. My wife's already in a tizzy 'bout me getting' conscript- er, _recruited_… her brothers fought for the Independents, you know. Bad enough I come home in this uniform every night; she's like to take herself and the four young'uns to live at her momma's, if I get my pay cut on top of that, or transferred to the back end of nowhere."

"Well, you just go on an' have a peek, honey. I know a young husband has to provide for the family he's made. You're a fine young man, an' I don't want to cause yer pretty missus no worries. It's just…" Mother gave a loud stage whisper, like she didn't want to upset 'Cousin Richard'. "He's got it fair bad, the Spotsy. I'd never forgive myself, if'n you was to carry that home to them babies. So you have a care, now, hear me boy? Don't you go gettin' too close to 'im, you know well as I do how catchy Spot Fever is."

Mal closed his eyes a bit as the door eased open a crack. Writhing a little, not entirely for show, he sucked in shallow breaths, letting them wheeze back out. "Momma?"

He could hear the young lieutenant's gasp from the threshold.

"No, darlin', it's Cousin Radiant," she said softly. "You just stay there an' rest, _dong ma_?"

"Momma… I don' feel so good," Mal slurred.

"It's the fever," Radiant said sadly to the Fed as Mal moaned in agony.

"Any chance he'd have seen your son in passing while he was on the road?"

"Poor child don't know where he is, or hardly _who_ he is, Lieutenant. Thinks he's still at home with his Momma."

"Momma?" Mal called out softly. "Momma, I'm gonna be in big trouble."

The Fed perked up. "What kind of trouble? Did you see Jayne Cobb recently? If he's threatened you to keep you quiet, we can protect you sir."

"Big trouble," Mal said. "He… he… won't like it a'tall."

"He's not in his right mind, Lieutenant, I told you that," Mother said quickly.

"Gonna be so mad at me… said he'd… thrash me next time…"

"You can tell me, Cousin Richard," Thomason urged. "I won't let him lay a hand on you."

"Can't go t' school today, Momma. Teacher gonna be so mad. Math test, gonna whup me fierce, I miss th' math test. You tell 'im, Momma, tell 'im I don't gotta go school t'day. Hurts…"

Radiant shushed him softly. "There now, child, I'll tell the teacher you're too sick for school. You ain't gotta worry 'bout that math test. You just rest now."

"Don' wanna whuppin'," Mal whined, closing his eyes. "Hurts all over, Momma. Like fire all over me. An' Martha May done marked on me with her red marker. Got… li'l spots… all over… test…"

Mal feigned drifting off into feverish sleep, his finger still poised on the trigger under the blanket.

"Sad to see it, a growed man like him an' all," she said ruefully. "Man's smart as a whip, writer no less, but now he's blabbering like a baby, dadgum fever. Still, you gotta search the room if you gotta. Just… try not to breath, if'n you can help it. I can give ya a hankie to cover yer mouth, but doctors say that don't do much good anyhow."

Thomason shuffled his feet at the doorway. "I… I'd hate to disturb Cousin Richard. Could give him a set back, y'know. You done said your boy Jayne ain't here, I got no cause to think otherwise. We'll just… we'll just head back to base, let this poor man get healed up. Sorry to bother ya, Mrs. Cobb. Just orders, you know."

His voice faded back down the stairway. Mal could hear the man exiting much quicker than he'd entered.

"No trouble at all, Lieutenant Thomason," Mother called down the stairs. "You just be sure you an' yer men wash up good fore you go home to yer families. Heed what I said, now, hear?"

"Yes'm. Sergeant! Pull back the men, he ain't been here."

Mal stayed still until the whine of their hovercars retreated into the distance. Throwing back the covers, he peeked out the window until the last speck of them had disappeared.

"Well, that went easier than I 'spected it would," Mother Cobb said from the doorway. "Though I guess it was still dreadful slow for you. Now you just wash all that goo off with this medicinal soap here, an' you'll be right as rain."

Mal took the cake of homemade soap and pitcher of water the old woman carried. "Not that I wasn't ready for some relief, but I'd say it went a little too quick."

"'Fraid you was gonna say that."

"Tell Mattie to keep his eyes open. I'd be a touch disappointed if your fine young lieutenant didn't leave a man or two to watch the place, dong ma?"

Mother nodded as she turned for the door. "'Spected somesuch myself."

.

.~.~.~.

Mal downed the last drink of buttermilk when Mattie came up the back porch, stomping his feet to knock the snow off his boots. A blast of cold air burst through the kitchen door.

"Storm's kickin' up," Jayne's brother said, though Mal could hear the wind start to screech outside.

"Good and bad," Mal said easily. The boy had something on his mind, and Mal could guess pretty easy what it was. "Most like, Zoe and Jayne had time to get to safety before the worst of it hit."

_Gorramit_, he felt about useless right now. Two of his own, out there in the storm. Him sitting here, luxuriating in the toasty warm, cozy Cobb farmhouse, full up with a hot country supper, and a soft bed waiting upstairs. Useless. But without a way to get the Cobbs and his folks out from under Fed eyes, he had no choice but to sit tight. Couldn't be seen up and 'healed' after convincing Thomason he was ate up with the Spotsy.

"Hope them hundans up on the ridge is freezin' their gorramed asses off right now," Mattie nodded. "Serve 'em right, spyin' on decent folk, lickin' Alliance's boots."

"That'd be a bit of good luck. But I can't say all of 'em had much of a choice 'bout that."

Mattie snorted and shot Mal the same smart-assed smirk Jayne wore so often.

"Don't let little Thomason's 'gosh- Ma'am' act fool ya. That hundan weren't conscripted no more than _you_ was," Mattie said, unwrapping the thick knit scarf from his head. Mal recognized the handiwork, even if Mother Cobb hadn't used the bright reds and oranges she'd made Jayne's hat from.

"Funny, how all their neighbors what supported the Browncoats seemed to move, or suddenly die off one by one, especially after the war. Ol' men what couldn't fight themselves, but could lend supplies or a safe house, just gone in the night. 'Cept for old Thomason. An' all a-sudden, here he's got all this coin to spend, to buy up the property after the menfolk was gone, an' widows couldn't pay the loans. Them what could, the old bastard used his pull with the assessor, got the taxes hiked up or 'found' back taxes owed. Hadn't been for my brother…"

The young man trailed off, turned and busied himself with getting unbundled from his scouting excursion.

Mal placed his dishes in the soapy sink and washed them. Jayne seemed to have a hard-on for anything that would bring him coin. Took him a while to realize the man wasn't just greedy, but was sending a hefty portion of his earnings back home. A twinge of guilt panged in his gut at how often here lately the pay had been weak, or short, or rendered in goods instead of cold hard coin.

Or how many jobs had dried up since their exposure of the Miranda Massacre.

Jayne made his own decisions, coulda dropped anchor at any number of ports. Skills like he had, man like him wouldn't be long outta work. He'd stayed on even when work got thin, by his own choice. Still, Mal figured it was a captain's duty to keep his boat in the air and his folk paid. Couldn't change a thing now, and he was sure the rest of them felt like he did… the murder of thirty million souls and the creation of cannibalistic monsters couldn't be kept a secret. Jayne had chosen his lot, just like the rest of them had.

"Your brother's a good man," Mal said over his shoulder. "Saved my life, more times than I can think on. Just you remember that, son, no matter what comes, nor what you might hear."

Mattie paused in taking off his snow boots, looking a tad confused at the captain's turn of conversation. "Course he's a good man. Ain't no warrants nor wanted posters gonna make me think bad on him. Reckon I think any less of him cause he ain't here all the time?"

"I'm just sayin', is all," Mal clapped a friendly hand on the boy's shoulder, wondering if Radiant had broken the news of Jayne's origin to Mattie yet. He figured she hadn't when the elderly woman appeared in the doorway looking like she was struggling with something on her mind.

"No matter what, your brother loves you and yer Ma. I'm gonna head up to bed, catch a few winks before my watch. You wake me before midnight, sooner if anything seems out of place, dong ma?"

"Yessir," Mattie said.

Mal squeezed Radiant's shoulder as he passed her in the doorway.

.

.~.~.~

To be continued…


End file.
